Mass Effect: Mythos
by Omniscent1
Summary: A crossover between Mass Effect and Cthulhutech. Humanity has won the Aeon War and has since expanded and thrived. How will the galaxy fare with this new power?
1. Prologue

**Mass Effect: Mythos**

Timeline

**2085—War continues:** The Aeon War continues to rage in a free-for-all between the New Earth Government, Migou and the various cults dedicated to the Old Ones. Humanity has recently been considered a lesser threat by both forces, and now they concentrate most of their efforts on destroying each other. Mankind and their Nazzadi allies have been given a reprieve, but everyone knows it will not last; if a method of salvation is not found, then all of humanity is doomed to either be subjugated by either the Migou or the Old Ones.

**2085—The Rite of Transcendence is transcribed: **Moles within the Chrysalis Corporation placed by the Eldritch Society manage to gain access to a secret library of occult texts concerning the _Ta'ge Fragments _that had been retrieved from the Arctic. These documents are secreted out of the corporation and are translated by their scholars. The result of these efforts is the discovery of the Rite of Transcendence, which will impart a fragment of Drazet, the Forgotten One who first penned the Fragments, into a mortal subject. Five hundred of the best agents of the Eldritch Society are selected to participate in Project: Demigod and undergo the rite; out of those five hundred, only one in five survive. Those that do are granted godlike powers, far beyond mortal comprehension.

**2086—Chrysalis Corporation is exposed:** No longer needing to hide in the shadows, the Eldritch Society's first act is to launch an attack on the Chrysalis Corporation and expose their involvement with the cults. Caught off guard, the corporation is severely damaged, and its ties to the Old Ones brought to light. The NEG immediately disavows the corporation, and the Office of Internal Security initiates a massive purge alongside the Eldritch Society. The Demigods and OIS forces prepare for a massive battle against the Chairman, Nyarlathotep's avatar, but he mysteriously vanishes.

**2087—NEG counterattack:** With the Demigods leading, humanity launches a massive offensive against the Migou and cult forces. Both sides, having weakened each other significantly, are unprepared for the assault and sustain heavy casualties. Migou positions in the Antarctic, Greenland, and other areas are obliterated and the cults are pushed steadily back towards Leng. For the first time, the NEG achieves true victory, though all know that the Aeon War is not yet over.

**2090—The end of the Aeon War:** After two years of savage fighting, the NEG forces manage to make it to the Plateau of Leng, where Hastur's avatar, the Ragged King, resides. Feeling that victory is no longer possible, the Migou prepare to enact their doomsday protocol and destroy Earth. Meanwhile, a contingent of the thirty strongest Demigods fight Hastur's avatar and, after a grueling battle, resulting in the death of a dozen Demigods, Hastur is banished back into oblivion. In a last act of fury, he unleashes a tremendous psychic scream that spreads across the solar system. All around the world, people fall to their knees in pain or suffer terrible seizures from the Old One's voice. The Migou, being far more sensitive to such things, are not so fortunate and are completely wiped from existence. With great relief and joy, humanity celebrates the end of the Aeon War.

**2095—Rebuilding:** No longer burdened by a fight to survive, humanity and their Nazzadi allies have picked up the pieces left in the wake of the Aeon War and have once more began colonizing the solar system. An expedition is sent to Pluto, to make sure that the Migou are no longer a threat. It is confirmed that the Migou are no more, and so the NEG immediately sets about establishing bases on the former homeworld of the Migou so that the technology that had eclipsed mankind's will one day be utilized for themselves.

**2095-2150—The Golden Age: **Over the past fifty-five years, humanity has made monumental progress. An arcanotech FTL drive, named the Dimensional Fold Drive, or DF Drive, has allowed humanity to expand from beyond their home system and colonize numerous planets. Thanks to the Migou's technology and human creativity, mankind has catapulted millennia ahead of what they once were. Even though much of the aliens' technology and knowledge has yet to be decoded, humanity has still managed to advance exponentially in numerous fields, particularly in genetics and bio-engineering. Though there is still danger from the Order of Dagon on Earth and elements of the Chrysalis Corporation that managed to escape the purge, these years have proven to be the most peaceful.

**2157—A new discovery:** Near the colony of Shanxi, a bizarre structure is discovered. Scientists tasked with studying it confirm that it is a faster-than-light transportation device, with greater range than allowed by the DF Drive. Upon further study, a new substance is discovered, termed Element Zero. It is hoped that this new element can be utilized in new forms of arcanotech.

#

Connor Anselm, Supreme Commander of the New Earth Federation Armed Forces, sighed deeply. Word had just reached him that the colony of Shanxi had been attacked by an unknown alien force.

"Only a little over sixty years of peace," he muttered. "I'd hoped we'd get at least a century before another war." Snapping out of his wishful thinking, he began barking orders to his aides. "Send word to the Federation; I want High Command on the line _yesterday_!"

**Author's note**

Before I go on any further, I would first like to extend my sincerest thanks to Saladofstones, who has been helping me out with the kinks in my story.


	2. Chapter 1: A New Threat

Chapter 1

A New Threat

The tension was palpable across the bridge of the super-carrier NSV _Xerxes_; though it had long been suspected that the Migou were not only alien race out there, no one had thought humanity would make contact with another one so soon. Even worse, just as the Migou had done, these aliens had revealed themselves as hostile. It was quite clear from the look on everyone's faces, human and Nazzadi alike, that they believed another Aeon War was about to start, and after barely sixty years of peace.

Steven Hackett, captain of the _Xerxes_, strode on deck, a holographic image of the Supreme Commander waiting for him. "Commander Anselm, sir," the captain said, snapping a perfect salute, which the commander returned.

"At ease, Captain. I'm sure you're already aware of the current situation with Shanxi, correct?"

"Yes, sir," Hackett replied. "Do we know anything about these aliens?"

The commander's hologram scowled. "Nothing yet. The research team studying that alien device just had time to let out an SOS about hostile aliens. I've already given orders for the 5th Fleet to head for the colony. You and the dreadnought _Vesuvius_ are the closest, so you two are going to spearhead the attack; the _Vesuvius_ will serve to keep those bastards at bay. I understand that your ship is carrying a full complement, am I right?"

"Yes sir."

"Good. Shanxi was only recently colonized, so military forces present there are sparse; if the aliens decide to invade the planet, they won't be able to hold them off for long, especially without naval support. It'll be your group's task to provide recon and ground support until the 5th Fleet arrives." The commander pinched the bridge of his nose. "I wish I had more information to give you, but other than the fact that they've proven themselves hostile, we've got nothing. Godspeed Hackett."

"Thank you sir." Hackett snapped another salute as the hologram disappeared. Looking around the bridge, he barked, "To your stations! Helmsman, prepare for dimensional jump!"

The helmsman, a Nazzadi with the typical crimson eyes and markings of his kind, nodded an affirmative. "Aye, sir. Dimensional Fold Drive engaged. All crew, prepare for jump."

His fingers flashed across a holographic screen with the ease attained from years of experience. A loud whine filled the ship as the drive activated. A split-second later, a vivid azure portal opened in front of the ship's prow and swallowed it up. The physical universe was left behind, replaced with only endless blue. It was at the same time beautiful and terrifying to behold.

"Dimensional shift successful," the Nazzadi helmsman said. "We are en route to Shanxi; ETA, six hours."

Hackett let out a breath he had involuntarily been holding. Even though he had done this a thousand times, dimensional shifts still left him feeling cold inside. Crossing from one plane of existence into another always felt unnatural to him, like he shouldn't be there. Like the campaigner he was, however, Hackett shrugged the feeling off; he could not afford weakness at a time like this.

"Helmsman, open up a channel throughout the ship. I'm going to offer a few words to everyone."

"Aye, sir." With a touch of a finger, it was done. "The channel is open. Whenever you're ready."

Hackett stood tall and clasped his hands behind his back and began. "Men and women of the _Xerxes_; as you all know, we have just received word that an alien force has attacked one of our colonies in an unprovoked act of hostility. We will rendezvous with the _Vesuvius_ and hold them off until the 5th Fleet can arrive. As of this moment, we know nothing about our new enemy, even their military capabilities; for all we know, they may be even more advanced than the Migou were."

He paused to let that sink in, hoping that this was not the case. After close examination of those damned bugs' technology, it was made abundantly clear that they could have wiped out mankind without any effort; only their desire for an abundant slave population kept that from happening. The thought of fighting an even more advanced race was enough to chill Hackett to his core. Steeling his resolve, the captain continued, his fervor growing with each syllable.

"But that does not mean that we are just going to sit idly by and let them get away with this act! We are strong! We have fought not just against aliens, but also against horrors from beyond space and time! We bent, but we never broke and in the end, we were the ones who emerged triumphant!"

He caught a few cheers off to the side. He allowed a small smirk to grace his face, knowing that the ground troopers he was carrying were probably howling with battle-lust right now.

"However this ends, whether we are victorious or defeated, we will make these aggressors pay dearly for their gains! All of us, human and Nazzadi alike, will show them that we are not going to give up without a fight!"

Throughout the carrier, savage cheers echoed in its corridors.

#

Admiral Gallus Othon looked out from the bridge of the _Resolute Spirit_, flagship of the 57th Turian Patrol Fleet. Not two standard hours ago, his fleet had encountered what appeared to be a new race; what's more, they appeared to be trying to activate Relay 314. That was against Council law, and so he ordered his ships to respond accordingly. It was unfortunate that he was forced to resort to such harsh measures, but when it came to the safety of the galaxy, only those measures would suffice.

From the corner of his eye, Gallus noticed his XO fidgeting slightly. "Something wrong, Captain?"

Captain Jorus began twiddling his talons together. "Nothing, sir."

Gallus sighed. "Speak your mind. You're practically dancing in place."

"It's just—sir, with all due respect, these aliens are clearly newcomers to the galaxy. There's no way they could have known about Citadel law forbidding the activation of dormant relays without knowing what's on the other side."

Gallus turned sharply to face his XO, mandibles flaring. "Captain, the last time a dormant relay was activated, the Rachni Wars started. Our job is to make sure something like that _never_ happens again. It should be common sense not to poke around things without knowing what might happen. Ignorance is not an excuse."

The captain still looked unconvinced. "But shouldn't we have at least warned them? From their point of view, an alien force just came in and attacked them for no reason. This could lead to war."

"I don't care about their point of view," the admiral retorted. "They were willfully trying to activate a dormant relay without regards for the potential consequences. When a child plays with a gun, you don't shake your talon at him; you discipline him. And if they want to try and pick a fight with us, they're going to be in for a shock. We're the greatest military force in Citadel space. We can handle some backwater primitives if they come after us." He then turned the communications officer. "Send the orders for the other ships to hold position. I want to be sure these aliens don't try anything funny. Also, send out salvage teams to get ahold of some of their ship fragments. If worse comes to worst, I want to know what we'll be facing."

#

Super-carriers, by design, were capable of moving massive amounts of resources, from troops to supplies, in one go. Though the threat of cults was not at level it had been during the Aeon War, remnants of the Chrysalis Corporation, particularly the Dhohanoids, as well as members of the Rapine Storm, still lurked amongst the worlds that mankind had colonized. The military had to be prepared to act at a moment's notice if word of cult activity was reported, and that meant keeping sizeable forces on standby in order to crush it in its infancy, before it had time to ensnare others.

The _Xerxes_ currently had what amounted to a small army; two divisions, each numbering 15,000 men and women; 200 mecha, from the hulking Sword-classes made by humans to the sleek Nazzadi designs; 100 Engels, including a few Seraphs and Chashmals of the towering Behemoth-class; and enough munitions and provisions to last a month, if used carefully. There were even two Tager Packs, with a dozen members each.

In the mess hall, the troopers were enjoying what might be their last meal. They had about three more hours until the _Xerxes_ reached Shanxi. The mood was somber; the fire and brimstone that Hackett's speech had incited was now sufficiently dissipated. No one knew what to expect when they finally went into battle against this new alien race. Hackett's comment on how they could very well be more advanced than the Migou had been had not done anything to boost morale. Scuttlebutt was traded in hushed tones, theorizing what they might be in for.

Such was the case at one table, which was composed of a few mecha pilots from Sigma Squadron. One of these, a man by the name of Jacob Cross, picked absently at his food. He was a strapping young man and looked like the ideal image of what a NEF mecha pilot ought to look like, crew-cut and all. Jacob had got out of the Mecha Academy just a couple years ago; never in his worst nightmares did he think he would ever be at the forefront of a counterattack against aliens.

One of the other pilots was more vocal about his apprehension. "You guys think these aliens might actually be more advanced than the Migou?" James "Jimmy" Ferguson was a wiry guy; even though he had the appetite of someone twice his size and could usually be found in the weight room, he never seemed to bulk up. He did, however, have very good reaction time and could think on his feet, even in the heat of battle. In contrast to most other mecha pilots, James was perhaps the least arrogant; then again, his mech was a Centurion, which many considered to be just a glorified suit of powered armor, so he did not have all that much to brag about.

"I don't care if they piss plasma and crap black holes, once I touch down, I'll be mowing the fuckers down left and right," declared Jonathan "Jonny-Boy" Triol, mimicking the firing of a gun with his hands. Unlike James, Jon was the very embodiment of the stereotypical mecha pilot: cocky, headstrong, a penchant for excessive profanity and gifted with an overabundance of self-confidence. Cthulhu himself could be glowering down at him and Jon would just flip him the bird. Also unlike James, he was built like a champion weightlifter (though a quick match against one of the ground-pounders soon showed that those muscles weren't optimized for actual fighting).

James shot his larger counterpart a sharp glare. "Easy for you to say. You'll be piloting a goddamn Broadsword; I'll be stuck in a dinky Centurion. One good shot, and I'm a pile of slag."

"You'll also be a smaller target," said a new voice. All three men looked around and saw their group leader, Master Sergeant Alison Connell. She had fiery red hair, denoting her Irish ancestry which, coupled with being tall and full-bodied, often made her the target of a number of catcalls from the male mecha pilots (to which, thanks to her tomboyish personality, she would reply with a very nasty left hook—or knee to the groin). She sat down with her own tray and continued. "The bigger the mech, the bigger the threat level. Odds are those aliens will be busy aiming at the Claymores and those other big ones. Gives you plenty of time to find yourself a nice position and crack some rounds off. Speaking of which, what kind of gun are going to use?"

James seemed to sit up a little straighter. "Laser cannon. A charge beam packs a punch, but it takes too long to power up a shot for my taste, and a plasma cannon isn't as quick as a laser beam; it's fast, but not as fast as light. Give me a laser, and I'll give you a nice hole in something." He could too, Jacob knew. For all his nervousness, James could crack off laser beams like it was nobody's business.

Alison nodded approvingly. Then, she noticed that Jacob had gone back to staring at his food as though it were the most interesting there was. "Is your food revealing all the secrets of the universe to you Jake?" she asked.

"If it is, see if it can show you what the MS's cup size is," Jon guffawed. That comment earned him a solid punch to his left kidney.

Jacob gave a thin smile. "Guess I'm just a bit nervous."

Alison nodded. "No kidding. It's hard enough going into battle, but it's even worse when you have to go in blind. I don't think there's anyone here that isn't scared right now. Well, except Jon here," she amended, jerking her thumb at him. "He doesn't have enough brains to be scared."

"Damn right!" Jon laughed. Then, his brow furrowed as his mind began to process his squad leader's words. "Wait, what was that last part?"

The other three mecha pilots burst out laughing. After a few minutes, they mollified themselves and Alison spoke again. "Still, we got a job to do. These aliens hit us, so we're going to hit them back. To do that, we need to be completely focused." She snapped a pointed look at Jacob. "Can I count on you to not get distracted?"

Jacob's gaze hardened with resolve. "Don't worry. The moment I touch down, I'm going to be killing any of those bastards who try to tangle with me."

"Now you're talking!" Jon laughed, shoving a large spoonful of baked beans into his mouth. He then speared the steak he'd been eating and held it aloft. "Hold onto your asses, you alien shitbirds, 'cause Sigma Squadron is coming for them!"

#

For the technicians of the _Resolute Spirit_, the past few hours had been the most exciting hours of their lives. Since the salvage teams had brought back some reasonably intact pieces of the aliens' ships, they had been pouring over them nonstop. At first, the technicians had resigned themselves that this would just be another cache of technology with the same basis as everyone else's, but less refined. Instead, they found that this new alien tech was anything but mundane.

Admiral Gallus was reading a report on what had been discovered about the aliens' technology. There wasn't much there, which was understandable given that the ship's tech-bay was not exactly a first-class laboratory, but what he read disturbed him greatly.

He looked up at the head technician. "You're absolutely sure of this? That their ships do not utilize Element Zero?"

The technician shook his head enthusiastically. "Not a trace. We looked over their crafts dozens of times and I can safely say that they are quite bereft of Element Zero, as well as helium-3."

"But then how do they get energy?" Gallus wondered, more to himself than the technician. "And for that matter, how do they manage to travel through space?"

"Obviously, they've found a different method," the technician supplied helpfully.

"Obviously," Gallus said acidly. "I don't suppose you have any idea what it might be?"

The technician shifted uncomfortably. "Unfortunately, no. Granted, what we got was just from what amounts to a cursory glance at best; with better equipment and more time, we could probably have something more concrete." His discomfort quickly vanished, to be replaced by excitement. "It's amazing, though; starships without any Element Zero! Who knows what else these aliens might be capable of?"

Gallus, too, was wondering that, though not in the same vein as the technician. If these aliens had managed to develop a whole new field of technology, one not dependent on Element Zero to function, then they could become a very real threat to Citadel space. He would have to make sure that did not happen.

"Keep looking over the aliens' tech and let me know if you find anything else."

"Yes, sir!" The head technician practically skipped back to the tech-bay. Gallus then summoned Jorus to his side.

"Captain, send word to the other ships to launch an assault on the aliens' world."

Jorus blinked. "I'm sorry sir?"

"You heard me, Captain. We are initiating occupation procedures. Once the ships are in position, commence orbital bombardment of key points and then send in the troops."

Jorus backed away in shock. "Sir, invading the aliens' planet will only make things worse! We don't even know anything about their military capabilities!"

"Exactly. If these aliens can develop an entirely new source of energy, there's no telling what kind of weapons they might have. We need to establish a foothold; they'll return here, of that I have no doubts and I want our forces dug in when they do."

"B-but, sir—"

"That was an order, Captain."

Swallowing hard, Jorus saluted. As he relayed the Admiral's orders, a terrible sense of foreboding descended on him. This entire operation was going to end badly, of that he was sure.

_Spirits watch over us_.


	3. Chapter 2: The Battle Begins

Chapter 2

The Battle Begins

General Williams, commander of the Shanxi garrison, was stuck in a situation no military leader wanted to be in; a hostile power bearing down on him, with hardly a sufficient force to fight back with, little in the way of provisions and no naval support. In short, everything was about to go straight to hell in a hand-basket, complete with a pretty pink bow.

It had all happened so quickly; this morning, the scientists and arcanotechnicians were busy studying that oversized tuning fork, astounded that something so obviously advanced was not the product of arcanotechnology and didn't make them go screaming bonkers upon examination. Then, without warning, an alien fleet suddenly appeared, obliterating the research team and their escort before they knew what was happening. They barely had time to send an SOS out to the colony, which was then broadcasted to whoever might be listening. After that, all that could be done was to wait for the inevitable invasion. For now, though, the aliens seemed content to just hang about. If luck was with them, then the Federation would send in a relief force before things got too hairy.

Williams ground his teeth in frustration. He told High Command that Shanxi was too unprotected. A few frigates was barely enough for an escort, let alone defending an entire planet! Now they had another inimical alien race breathing down humanity's collective neck and Shanxi was ripe for the taking.

_A little over six decades of relative peace and we're already getting sloppy_, he thought bitterly.

"Sir!" one of his aides called. "The aliens have begun to move in towards the planet's outer orbit!"

The general sat bolt upright and immediately assumed the air of command someone of his station was supposed to exude.

_So it begins_.

#

Jorus watched from the main viewport of the _Resolute Spirit_ as the other ships made their way to the planet and, once in position, began to open fire, raining down mass accelerator rounds upon the hapless world. A sour taste began to bleed into his mouth. This was wrong; attacking a new alien race that had no knowledge of Council decrees, and then _invading_ them wasn't upholding the law, it was nothing short of warmongering, something more fitting for the Krogan, not Turians.

Worst of all, they didn't even know the aliens' military prowess. Despite the Admiral's conviction that they could easily handle some upstart species if they decided to get rowdy, if a fight was truly unavoidable, then they should first take the time to analyze the enemy and make note of strengths and weaknesses. As a rule, Turians disliked engaging in risky operations, which was precisely what Gallus was doing; they had no knowledge of how many planets the aliens might have, what kind of weapons they used, how big their entire fleet was, nothing. Nevertheless, he was ordering them to charge in, guns blazing. Off to the side, he could hear some crewmen talking about how they'd be in for commendations, and possibly even promotions, when they got back to Palaven.

_For all that talk about wanting to never have a repeat of the Rachni Wars, we sure are going out of our way to start one_, Jorus thought scathingly. The peacekeepers of the Council find a new race, and initiate first contact by shooting them. Then, to step things up, they go right ahead and assault one of their worlds, on the grounds that they might be dangerous. Would the Turians react positively if _they_ were attacked because they had unwittingly violated some law? No, sir, they would not; any Turian who could hold a gun or even a rusty eating utensil would head straight for the frontlines. Why should that mentality be reserved only for them?

After a few minutes, the bombardment ceased, and dozens of shuttlecraft began to emerge from the fleet's hulls, bearing their cargo of soldiers and vehicles and supplies. The invasion was now in full swing; too late to back down now. All Jorus could do was watch and pray for the best. Deep down, though, he knew that there would be no "best," only bad and worse.

#

"Captain, we are about to enter realspace in ten minutes," the Nazzadi helmsman reported.

Hackett nodded. "And the _Vesuvius_?"

"Right behind us. We'll be able to establish contact with her the moment we both return to the physical universe."

"Good." Hackett steeled himself; this was it. Time to show these new alien aggressors that humanity was not easy prey.

Ten minutes later, the _Xerxes_ reappeared in the mortal universe, the endless stark blue replaced by the comforting blackness flecked with glowing white dots. Shanxi was dead ahead, a placid orb that belied the violence that was already taking place on it. A number of vague shapes clustered around it.

"Reentry successful," the helmsman said.

"All systems green, Captain," one of the technical officers added. "Sensors and defensive systems are fully functional."

"Good. Get me a close-up of the planet," Hackett ordered. A few seconds later, Shanxi now occupied the entire viewing screen. He could now clearly see the alien ships blockading the world; there were fifteen of them, as well as several smaller crafts, which were doubtless drop-ships, ferrying their forces onto Shanxi's surface.

"Looks like we got here just in time," he remarked. Unfortunately, until the _Vesuvius_ joined them, the _Xerxes_ was unable to advance too close. Super-carriers were big, but they had no offensive capabilities; only heavy armor, anti-ordnance mounts and drone fighters. Attempting to land troops without support was tantamount to suicide. Right now, all they could do was to provide recon.

"Lieutenant Talrava, scan the aliens' ships. I want to know what to expect from them."

Talrava, another Nazzadi, wasted no time in obeying the captain's order. As the sensors proceeded with their examination, he relayed what was found as the computer displayed it.

"Captain, the computer is detecting large amounts of Element Zero radiating from all the alien ships. As far as I can tell, however, their ships are not the product of arcanotechnology."

Hackett paled. "Do you think these are the ones that built that giant construct?"

The technical officer frowned as he consulted the screen. Finally, he shook his head. "Unlikely. Their ships do appear to be based on the same technology, but they're vastly inferior in comparison. They might utilize it, but I can pretty much guarantee that they did not build it."

Hackett let out a breath he did not know he had been holding. "Thank God for that. What about weapon systems? Anything we should be careful about?"

"Just a moment, sir." The Nazzadi stared intently at the screen for a moment. Then, he sat back and began stroking his chin thoughtfully. "Well, that's odd."

"Don't keep us in suspense here, Lieutenant, give it to us straight."

The Nazzadi gave a small smile. "Well, it appears that our new friends have weapons that are, to put it bluntly, unimpressive. From what I've seen, all they have are some solid munitions and missile systems with an Element Zero base. The only energy weapons detected were some lasers, but by the look of it, those are for defense."

Hackett allowed a grin of his own to cross his face, but his was more feral. "So there's nothing to really worry about, then?"

"I wouldn't go that far, sir," the technical officer corrected. "Each of these ships has what appears to be a main gun, mounted on their spines and run along roughly ninety percent of their hull's length. These are estimated to be capable of producing the rough equivalent of tactical nuclear munitions upon impact, though the exact magnitude is unknown. That's nothing to sniff at, even if they can only get off one shot every so often."

"Well, we wouldn't want things to be too easy, now would we?" Hackett remarked. A number of chuckles followed that comment.

Just then, another technician spoke up. "Sir, the _Vesuvius_ has just come out of her dimensional jump."

"Excellent." Hackett turned towards the communications officer. "Patch them through." Finally, they could start this fight.

Within moments, a new hologram appeared in the bridge. This one was a Xenomix, the rare and exotic result of a human and Nazzadi pairing, with jet-black hair and silvery-gray skin. His lavender eyes were intense, almost glowing as they stared at Hackett.

"Captain Hackett," the hologram said, saluting. "Captain Karuma, master of the _Vesuvius_, reporting.Sorry for the delay."

"Good to have you here, Captain," Hackett replied, returning the salute. "We've just scanned the alien ships."

Immediately, Karuma was all business. "What have you got for me?"

"The aliens' ships all appear to be based on the same tech as the thing next to Shanxi, with substantial traces of Element Zero. As far as we can tell, they do not have any form of arcanotechnology."

"What about weapons? What can we expect?"

"A number of solid munitions guns, also using Element Zero, as well as some missiles. Though they do have some form of energy weapons, we've concluded that they are focused on defense rather than offense. Each ship also has what appears to be main gun, and our lowest estimates place their yield at the level of tactical nuclear ordnance."

Karuma frowned as he digested this information. "Any recommendations?"

Hackett nodded. "The main guns appear to be unwieldy; they won't be much good at close range. Closing the distance will render them unusable. Of course, that will also put us in range of their other weapons. And given that they outnumber us, we might not last very long, even with all the firepower you have."

From the look on his face, Karuma agreed. "Unfortunately, we can't just sit here. They're going to detect us soon enough and I'd prefer to deal with guns that don't fire off the equivalent of nukes."

"So would I," Hackett responded. "I've got a full complement to unload, but we need to get past that blockade. To do that, we're going to have to neutralize the biggest threat, namely this ship here." He pointed to a ship which was at least three times the size of the others. "This one has the most firepower out of all of them. Concentrate your fire on it and bring it down, then focus on the others. I'll launch our drone fighters to harry them. Once we get a gap, the _Xerxes_ will begin unloading all ground personnel. Maintain constant communication; we need to coordinate this thing perfectly."

_And hopefully the 5__th__ Fleet will show up before those ships turn us into Swiss cheese_, Hackett thought.

The Xenomix captain nodded. "As good a plan as any. However this goes, those aliens are going to get a very bloody reception. We didn't survive the Aeon War just to be kicked around by another alien race."

"Took the words right out of my mouth," Hackett said, with no small amount of venom in his voice. He saluted sharply. "Good luck, Captain."

The Xenomix returned the salute. "To you as well. Time to give our guests a proper Federation welcome."

#

"Captain Jorus! Alien ships have just been detected!"

Jorus scrambled over to the Turian who had made the announcement, bracing himself for the worst. "How many?"

"Just two, sir."

Jorus paused in disbelief as an image of the vessels appeared onscreen. Two? That was all? A counterattack was to be expected and, granted, both ships were huge, at least twice the size of a dreadnought, but surely they didn't think that two ships would be enough to take on fifteen. At least he hoped that was the case. Given that these aliens apparently used an entirely different technological base, these two ships could be veritable doomsday vessels, packing Spirits-knew how much firepower. Jorus silently cursed Gallus; too many unknowns, and still he decided to pick a fight with these aliens.

"Should I open up a channel to them, sir?"

Jorus sighed and shook his head. "Son, we just attacked them and invaded one of their worlds. I highly doubt they're in a talking mood. Besides, we have no data on their language." _Yet another thing our illustrious Admiral didn't take into account_, he thought bitterly. Coming to an agreement was going to be a little hard without any means to communicate. It truly was mind-boggling how unprepared they were.

The screen flashed a warning; one of the ships had just shot off what looked like a missile. All across the bridge, Turian crewmembers began to shift nervously. Jorus took it upon himself to assuage their concerns.

"It's all right people, everything's under control. They're just testing us. The GARDIAN system will take care of things. We've got fifteen ships, they've only got two. It doesn't matter how big they are, they won't be able to—"

Suddenly, the _Resolute Spirit_ was rocked to her core; all throughout the ship, klaxons blared and crewmen were violently knocked to the ground. Jorus, who had fallen flat on his back, sprang back to his feet and immediately voiced what everyone aboard was thinking:

"What the hell was that!?"

The technician clambered back into his seat and consulted the computer. His mouth, mandibles and all, soon sagged open.

"Captain, that thing they fired at us just detonated with a force of two hundred and fifteen kilotons! Kinetic barriers are down, we've got hull breaches on the entire lower portside and our engines are shot! Spirits above… frigates _Hammer of Wrath_ and _Solar Talon _are destroyed too!"

Jorus stood stock still. "Are you telling me we just got hit by a _nuke_?"

The technician once more consulted the screen. "No sir, there's no radiation spikes."

"Then what the hell hit us?"

#

Hackett watched as the missile streaked towards the largest alien ship, carrying its fearsome payload. From the zoomed-in screen, he saw a laser beam lance out and strike it, only for a tremendous explosion to rip through space. The ship remained intact, but it was badly damaged; a couple smaller ships were not so fortunate and were reduced to little more than chunks of debris floating in the airless cold.

Such was the power of antimatter.

As he watched, Hackett was equal parts satisfied and chilled to the core. Satisfied that so much damage had been done, chilled because of the raw power unleashed. A single gram of antimatter, colliding with a gram of matter, produced an explosion that yielded no less than 43 kilotons of TNT; the missile that had been fired had carried _five_, making it almost fifteen times more powerful than the bomb that had been dropped on Hiroshima. During the Aeon War, the Migou had used antimatter extensively, from missiles to the much feared null rays that vaporized anyone and anything unfortunate enough to be hit by them. Now, its power belonged to humanity.

Antimatter was one of the most dangerous weapons the NEF had at its disposal, not just because of its destructive power, but also its temperament. The phrase, "playing with fire" was a very apt description. Should the containment field holding the antimatter be breached, then the wielders, and a good portion of the surrounding area, would cease to exist. In fact, antimatter weapons were considered so dangerous that ground forces absolutely refused to use them, and even warships only used antimatter missiles, and never in large numbers, in order to minimize a possible breach.

Karuma's hologram smirked, clearly pleased at the devastation. "Well, that was a bit more spectacular than I thought it would be. Two ships are down for the count and the big one's dead in the water."

"A heavy blow, but don't get too cocky, this battle isn't over yet," Hackett replied. Though Hackett too wanted to revel in the crippling blow, he knew better. Often, when things seemed to go too well, something nasty was in store for later. Until they were sure that the invaders were no longer an issue, there wouldn't be any gloating.

The Xenomix's eyes hardened. "True enough, Captain. Time to get up-close and personal."

As Hackett watched, the _Vesuvius_ surged forward, ready to take advantage of the chaos the missile had caused. He immediately began barking orders to his crew.

"Tail the _Vesuvius_, but be sure not to get too far ahead. Once we get close enough, deploy all drone fighters." Points on the enemy ships were highlighted in bright green. "Concentrate on their engines and weapons platforms, but if they send out fighters of their own, engage them first." The _Xerxes_ lurched forward, trailing its heavily armed sister, and Hackett clasped both hands behind his back, his face screwed up in intense concentration. Now, he knew, was when things got messy.

#

Gallus, having felt the severe tremor ripple through the _Resolute Spirit_, ran out of his quarters and straight for the bridge. He was soon faced with panicked officers and shrieking alarms. His eyes quickly caught sight of his XO and covered the distance between them with lightning speed.

"Captain, what in the name of Palaven happened?!"

"We were just attacked, Admiral," Jorus stated, stress bleeding into his voice. "The alien dreadnought shot some sort of missile at us and when the GARDIAN attempted to take it out, it exploded with two-hundred and fifteen kilotons of force. We're down two frigates and the _Spirit_'s been heavily damaged. The alien ships are advancing towards us as we speak."

The admiral gaped in stupefied astonishment. "That's not possible!" he declared, as if saying that statement made it so.

"Well, sir, given that two frigates are gone and we're crippled, I'd say that it is possible," Jorus snapped.

"Watch your tone, Captain," Gallus snarled. Before he could begin a tirade, another crewman called out, "The dreadnought is firing again! It's targeting the cruiser _Steadfast Guardian_!"

"They're going to fire another one of those missiles!" another shrieked, clearly on the verge of hysterics.

"Get a grip on yourself!" Gallus ordered. "Their ships are too close to ours now; if they were to shoot off something that powerful at such close range, they'd be caught in the blast too!" He pointed a talon at another crewman. "Get in contact with the remaining ships; I want all our guns pointed at those Spirits-damned aliens! We are going to teach these uppity bastards a lesson in how the Turian Hierarchy—"

Exactly what they were going to teach the aliens died in the admiral's throat as he happened to glance out of the main viewport. From several points on their dreadnought, beams of iridescent crimson light struck the targeted cruiser; its kinetic barriers offering no resistance, the beams gouged gaping holes in its hull. A few seconds later, the ship exploded.

Gallus's hand dropped limply to his side as Jorus moved up beside him. "Were…were those—?"

"Yes, Admiral," Jorus stated grimly, "_lasers_. They have energy weapons."

#

If Hackett was being honest with himself, the fight was going almost phenomenally well. The first strike had taken two enemy ships out of commission and hamstrung the largest one. Now, the _Vesuvius _was unleashing the full power of its weapons batteries, and it was spectacular to see. Dreadnoughts were built with one purpose in mind: overwhelming firepower. Though the alien ships seemed to resist the heavy rail guns and plasma cannons (though to a lesser extent in regards to the latter), its turbo laser and charge beam batteries carved them up as if they were made of paper. Some of the ships fired off shots of their own at the dreadnought, but they merely glanced off its five-meter thick Titanium-alloy hide, leaving only superficial blemishes. It almost seemed unnecessary to deploy the drones.

When humanity had once more began exploring the far reaches of space, new problems emerged, particularly in regards to warfare. Contrary to what the old sci-fi movies had shown, star fighters were not plausible. In space, there was no air resistance, so a craft which emphasized speed would pose a danger to a pilot by accelerating to lethal velocities. A drone, however, would not require one, and so could go as fast as it liked. Enter the M1-Quicksilver; with multiple A-pods mounted on its chassis, the Quicksilver could not only fly forward and backward, but in just about every direction possible and so fast it'd make your head spin. An advanced VI allowed it to pinpoint targets, from weak points on enemy ships to other fighters, and to take evasive action when in danger. Given that the _Vesuvius_ was tearing through the alien fleet, sending out the Quicksilvers would be almost overkill.

But if the Aeon War taught humanity anything, it was that the best kill was overkill. One command later and squadrons of self-guided drones were launched into the fray.

#

Jorus watched with disbelieving eyes as the situation for the Turian fleet steadily deteriorated. They were now down five ships and the _Resolute Spirit_ remained out of the fight. Now, the other ship, which had just stood by while its companion blasted away at their ships had just released several dozen fighters. They zipped amongst the Turian ships, striking at engines and weapon platforms with their own laser cannons. GARDIAN systems were able to take out a few of the fighters, but they quickly homed in on the obvious threat and proceeded to eliminate them.

It had become clear to the captain that the fight was a lost cause. Even if they managed to somehow defeat the two alien ships, this was obviously a prelude to an even larger force. The Patrol Fleet would be annihilated, if their firepower was anything like the dreadnought's. As loathe as he was to admit it, there was only one option.

Jorus looked back at Gallus, who still looked on in stupefied horror as the alien dreadnought continued to bombard the fleet, and said something he'd never thought he'd have to say:

"Admiral, we have to retreat."

Gallus, however, did not seem to hear him. He just continued to stare at the battle, murmuring to himself, "Energy weapons…they have energy weapons….we're all doomed."

"Admiral, did you hear me? We have to withdraw!"

"Doomed…I've killed us all…"

"Spirits-damn it!" Jorus snarled. He pointed at one of the bridge security personnel. "Escort the Admiral to his quarters; he's unfit for duty. As the most senior officer present, I'm taking over command." As the security officer pulled the still-muttering Admiral off the bridge, Jorus faced the communications officer. "Get a line to all remaining ships. Tell them that we are pulling out."

While the transmission was being sent, Jorus contacted the engineering bay. "Chief Appius, what's the status of our engines?"

"Shot to hell, Captain," came the gruff response of the Chief Engineer. "Same with the FTL drive. We'd need access to a repair station to fix them. Sorry to say this, but we won't be going anywhere."

"I was afraid of that," Jorus said. "Do what you can, Chief." _For what good it'll do_. He turned back to the communications officer. "Has the remainder of the fleet received the order to retreat?"

"Yes, sir," the Turian replied. "But what about our soldiers on the planet?"

Jorus sighed miserably. "We can't do anything for them. If we try to evacuate them, the aliens will just pick off the shuttles and then go right back to blasting us to oblivion. The only way we can help is to warn the Council. Hopefully, they'll be able to clean up this mess we've made."

"What about us? Have the engines been fixed?"

Jorus noticed that everyone was suddenly focused on him after that question. He also noticed the look of desperate hope that crossed each face. The captain felt his heart sink, knowing that he was about to rob them of that hope.

Straightening himself up, he said, "Men and women of the _Resolute Spirit_." Instantly, the flicker of hope that had affixed all on the bridge was gone, replaced by nihilistic acceptance. They already knew what was going to happen. Nevertheless, Jorus continued; he owed them that much. "The damage we sustained was great, and our engines and FTL drive are out of commission. Retreat is not an option for us.

"However, we still have a part to play. The fleet needs time to escape; we will give it to them. The alien dreadnought must be kept occupied long enough for our remaining ships to get to safety. After that, our fate is in the Spirits' hands."

Jorus watched the crewmen for their reactions. To his pride, he saw that they were standing up straighter; though defeat was all but inevitable, they had a duty to perform, and like good Turians, they would see it done.

But then, as if to counteract this sense of duty, the computer screens began to blip madly. One of the crewmen soon reported the cause with numb recognition.

"Captain, we're getting readings that more alien ships are arriving."

Even as he watched, Jorus saw that it was true. All around their fleet, ships began to appear through portals of vivid blue. Soon, they were surrounded.

Jorus swallowed hard. He wanted to do something; weep, pray, something, but he didn't; the bitter knowledge that none of that would do any good prevented him. All he could do was stand on the bridge and await the inevitable.

The reckoning he feared had finally come.

**Codex: New Earth Federation Astral Navy**

This branch of the Federation's Armed Forces officially began in 2087 in order to take the fight to the Migou in space and has expanded over the decades. More commonly known as the Astral Navy, or AN, it oversees all modes of interstellar combat and peacekeeping. Warships are heavily armed and armored and designed with peak efficiency in mind. Produced in massive shipyards via nanotechnology, such crafts are constructed to have minimal crew requirements, relying predominantly on advanced LAIs to carry out most functions.

**Frigates**: In the past, frigates, like most other military vessels, were focused heavily on durability and firepower. Today, they have sacrificed much of their resilience in exchange for greater speed and maneuverability, though they still retain formidable offensive capabilities. Frigates occupy the role of light escort and scouting vessels, topping out at roughly 400 meters long.

Standard Armaments: Hull-mounted Vacuum-Tuned Charge Beam, 2 Vacuum-Tuned Linked Laser Cannons, 2 Vacuum-Tuned Plasma Cannons, 2 Rocket Pods, 2 Missile Racks.

**Cruisers**: These vessels provide the bulk of the Federation's naval forces. Both well-armed and armored, they are the mid-level tier between frigates and the massive dreadnoughts and carriers. Its cargo capacity can house between 30-60 Quicksilver drones or 30 0-G mecha, in addition to its own weapons mounts.

Standard Armaments: 4x2 Linked Hull-Mounted Charge Beams, 8x2 Linked Laser Cannons, 2 Hull-Mounted Missile Racks, Hull-Mounted Plasma Cannon, 2 Linked Railguns, 4x4 Linked Rocket Pods.

**Destroyers**: A unique type of vessel, destroyers are less of a ship and more akin to a giant mobile cannon. Their entire function is to inflict ungodly damage at either enemy ships or planetary targets. The sole weapon of these ships is a 500-foot arcanowave cannon which has been fitted with an immense D-Engine to provide the power requirement for such an armament. At full power, a destroyer is capable of unleashing a ray of eldritch energy that produces the rough equivalent of 50 megatons of TNT. This singular focus on dealing damage and low rate of fire leaves them vulnerable to enemy counterattacks, particularly from fighters, and so they are always stationed well away from the action. Destroyers are named after mythological creatures, such as the NSV _Chimera_, _Oni_, and _Garuda_.

**Carriers**: Dreadnought-sized craft, these ships are responsible for ferrying troops and supplies from one place to another. Unlike the rest of their brethren, carriers have no offensive capabilities and must rely on self-defense armaments, thick armor and their own complement of drone fighters. Its cargo bay can hold a maximum of 24,000 tons and can provide for a total of 100,000 fully-equipped soldiers in addition to its crew.

**Dreadnoughts**: These are the largest and most powerful warships the Federation has ever made, combining terrifying firepower with incredible armor; even the Migou took pause when facing these mighty ships. At two to three kilometers long and armed to the teeth, there is little that can stand in a dreadnought's way. These ships come in two classes: the Mountain and Volcano. Volcano classes focus on broadsides and mount no less than 312 of them (156 on each side), each one as long as 40% of the ship's width. They also carry a payload of the tremendously destructive Antimatter Missiles; even the ones containing small amounts of antimatter easily reach triple-digit kiloton range. The Mountain classes forego most of their broadsides in favor of an arcanowave cannon more than twice the size of destroyer's, with a yield of 100 megatons of TNT.


	4. Chapter 3: The Might of Mankind

Chapter 3

The Might of Mankind

For the first time since the battle had started, Hackett smiled his first genuine smile. The 5th Fleet had finally arrived in all its glory. No less than fifty ships were now present; frigates, cruisers, destroyers, all encircling the alien fleet while the carriers held back. The amount of power arrayed was truly awe-inspiring. Hackett, however, had not time to bask in it, as he was soon faced with a new hologram.

Admiral Silas Slade was the very definition of hard. He was not a man who minced words or flinched away from adversity and always maintained a calm and calculating demeanor. His face was clean-shaven, neither handsome nor ugly, but simply plain. He had cold gray eyes that stared with such intensity that no one could maintain eye contact with him for extended periods of time, which led to his moniker, "Steel-Eyes" Slade. Though past fifty, there was hardly a wrinkle present, as though time had forgotten to age him—or perhaps was afraid to.

Hackett saluted as though the President of the Federation was in front of him. Slade was a legend amongst the Federation Navy, for like himself, he had risen from enlisted man to his current rank and in record time. A born leader and tactician, Slade had seen action against some of the worst things the galaxy could throw at him and remained undaunted. Today was no exception.

The Admiral returned the salute, though his expression remained unreadable. "At ease, Captain Hackett," he said. His deep voice carried an English accent, the kind that any respectable vid villain would kill to have. "I see you and Captain Karuma have kept things well in hand for us."

"Yes sir," Hackett replied, returning to a slightly more relaxed state. "Out of fifteen enemy vessels, five are destroyed and their flagship is crippled. However, the aliens managed to land an unknown number of forces on Shanxi before we could engage them."

"Has there been any contact with the colony?"

"No sir. The aliens must have taken out communication hubs before invading, but given that Shanxi is lightly defended, I think it appropriate to assume that their situation is less-than desirable. With your permission, I would like to begin unloading all ground personnel to relieve the garrison."

Slade nodded. "Granted. What is your compliment?"

"Two full divisions, two hundred mecha, a hundred Engels, and supplies to support them, Admiral. Tager Packs Jericho and Golgotha are also present."

The Admiral's gray eyes seemed to suddenly light up and Hackett shuddered involuntarily. "Captain, deploy all ground forces save the Tagers. Have them board the crippled vessel. I want answers, so get me some prisoners."

Hackett saluted sharply. "At once, sir."

#

All across the _Xerxes_, jubilation reigned supreme as Hackett relayed the orders. Finally, they were taking the fight to the aliens. In the hangar bay, mecha and Engel pilots prepared to drop while the ground-pounders did final checks on the weapons and armor.

Federation tactics dictated that the first wave of an assault would be composed of the massive war machines, which would deliver crippling strikes to enemy forces and pave the way for the soldiers and other vehicles. The Nazzadi mecha, being the fastest, would blitz enemy positions, to be followed by Engels, who could take incredible amounts of punishment with Sword-class mecha offering support.

"All right, boys, you know the drill," said Alison as her team walked over to their respective mecha. "Stay together, maintain constant radio contact and watch each other's backs. No gung-ho shit." She gave a pointed look at Jon, who grinned back cheekily.

"Yes ma'am, Sarge."

"Good. I'll be on point. Jon and Jacob, you two stay behind me. Jimmy, you keep an eye out for any troopers who want to take a shot at us. Clear?"

"Yes, ma'am!" all three chorused.

"Then suit up and get ready."

With that, each pilot made their way to their respective mech. Alison's was a Claymore, thirty-eight feet of death-dealing fury. Often called a Broadsword on steroids, the hulking mech was something no one wanted to be standing against. Outfitted with rocket pods, a laser cannon, and a hyperedge blade more the twice the height of a man, there was not much that could withstand it.

For Jacob, a Gladius waited for him. A respectable twenty-six feet in height, the Gladius was optimized for urban combat, something that was the bane of most other mech designs. Though not capable of dishing out the amount of firepower a Claymore could, the Gladius had its own little surprises: a plasma cannon to take out things from a distance, a flamethrower to ferret out the more stubborn elements of resistance, and two hyperedge blades retracted in either arm reserved for close-combat. All in all, a hardy machine capable of giving the enemy a very bad day.

Jacob clambered into the cockpit of his mech and keyed the activation code. The mech hummed to life and the cockpit closed shut, sealing him in. Next, computer systems flashed on, displaying all aspects of the Gladius, from hull integrity to weapon to sensory systems. A quick diagnostic showed that all systems were green, operating at full capacity.

The built in comm system crackled and Alison's voice rang out. "Okay boys, callsign Excalibur is all green. What's your status?"

"Callsign Quickdraw is all green," came James's reply.

"Callsign Mastodon is all green," Jon confirmed. "Ready to kick some ass."

"Callsign Chrome is all green," Jacob said.

"Then get ready. We drop in ten minutes."

#

Back on the _Resolute Spirit_, the mood was far from ecstatic. On the contrary, mass hopelessness was rampant and fear hung like a cloying fog. What had started off as a routine patrol had now devolved into what could only be considered a precursor to a full-scale war. Outnumbered, outgunned and surrounded with no chance of escape, there was no doubt in anyone's mind that they were facing certain death. Some, however, held onto a sliver of hope that the aliens would try to negotiate and that this ugly matter would be resolved without further bloodshed. Jorus was not among them; he was sure that the only reason that they had not joined the Spirits yet was because of one reason: the aliens wanted information, and that meant they needed captives.

His suspicions were confirmed a moment later. On one of the computer screens, an alert flashed; a nearby technician reported that there looked to be two small shuttles heading for the _Spirit_. Ordinarily, this would not have been a concern; two shuttles worth of troops would not be able to take a dreadnought. But given that a single ship had devastated their fleet and only suffered superficial damage, it would be best to assume that the aliens had something up their sleeves.

"Officer Severus," he said, directing his attention at one of the security personnel. The Turian stood at attention. "Gather all security shipmen and head off whatever is in those shuttles."

"Yes sir," the officer replied. He pointed at a few other security staff and together they made their way off the bridge.

#

"All mecha and Engel pilots," a mechanical voice intoned, "prepare for drop to Shanxi in T-minus one minute."

Jacob's grip on the Gladius's controls tightened. This was it; no more hanging back. There was a colony to liberate. One last diagnostic revealed that nothing had spontaneously gone wrong with any of the systems. That was the beauty of arcanotech: sure, trying to make something new will probably make you go bat-shit insane, but once it's made, it'll almost never let you down.

The comm system crackled again and their squadron leader spoke up. "Okay Sigma Squadron, listen up! We'll be part of the first wave of Sword-classes, so it's our job to mop up anything the Nazzadi and Engels leave behind. Once we've gotten a foothold, we secure the area for the ground-pounders. After everyone is down and set up, we'll attempt to establish contact with the commander of Shanxi's garrison and rendezvous at his location. Don't get lax just because we beat their fleet; we still have no idea what to expect from their ground forces, so mark your targets and make your shots count. Good luck and Godspeed."

The bay soon echoed with the thundering sound of multi-ton footsteps as mecha and Engels made their way to the hangar door. The mechanical voice spoke again.

"T-minus thirty seconds to drop."

The hangar bay doors slid open, exposing the gigantic war machines to the void of space. In spite of being in a sealed environment, Jacob shivered. In the past, most mecha had no need to be suited for a vacuum environment as the war was fought almost entirely on Earth. Today, all mecha and Engels were modified to survive space and reentry. The thought of hurtling out into that endless blackness to freeze, suffocate, rupture and finally die had always gave him pause. It was not an uncommon phobia; many cadets had suffered from it and washed out because they couldn't conquer it.

The mechanical voice began the countdown. "Ten…nine…eight…seven…six…"

Jacob entered a state of intense focus. The rest of the universe no longer mattered. He only concentrated on the mission and how he was going to see it through.

"Five…four…three…two…one."

The second the last number was uttered, the Nazzadi mecha leapt from their positions and fired up their A-pods, the bursts of antigravity propelling them at speeds of over 160 miles an hour towards Shanxi. Once they had all left, the Engels followed, and Jacob could swear he heard the creatures entombed in their armor make what sounded like howls of joy at the coming battle.

Now, it was Sigma Squadron's turn.

Jacob activated his A-pods and the Gladius took off alongside the other members of his squadron. Alison's voice came in through the comm system.

"Stay in formation, boys. We don't want to get separated during reentry. Quickdraw, you're five meters too far from the group. Adjust at once, do you copy?"

"I copy, Excalibur," he said. "Correcting trajectory now."

His voice was so calm you would think he was doing nothing more difficult than taking a stroll through a park. It was made even more astounding when you considered what he was piloting. A Centurion was a mere ten feet tall, absolutely miniscule compared to most other mecha. In the old days, something that size wouldn't even have its own A-pods, let alone be reinforced for space and reentry. Even with present-day modifications, nine out of ten reentry failures happened to the small mecha like the Centurion. Pilots of the larger mecha might snicker at the diminutive models, but they had a healthy respect for their aviators. It took serious balls to stick yourself in what was essentially an enlarged suit of power armor and hurl yourself at a world.

The Gladius's built-in LAI computer systems spoke up. "Atmospheric reentry imminent. Optimal speed achieved. Estimated time to planet-fall: five minutes."

"Hell yeah!" Jon whooped over the comms. "Atmospheric reentry! I fucking love this part!"

Alison's inevitable chastisement was quick in forthcoming. "Stay focused, Mastodon. I don't need you getting drop-drunk."

Drop-drunk was a term coined for the feeling a mech pilot often got from a reentry. Piloting a mech was a rush, but it was the fall from orbit that really taxed you. Some pilots experienced such a euphoric endorphin high, they blacked out and were unable to decrease their fall's speed. Usually, the mech's automated ejector system would save the pilot, but sometimes things went wrong, and the end result was not pretty.

Any further banter was stalled as the team entered Shanxi's gravitational pull. The glow from the heat of reentry soon began to engulf them as they were drawn inexorably towards the planet's surface.

"Hull integrity stable," Jacob's LAI informed him. "Exterior temperature within acceptable parameters. Mech is now sixty kilometers from the planet's surface."

Jacob kept a steady hand on the A-pods' controls and pressed a button. The Gladius jerked back, slowed by a fraction. The first instinct one has is to immediately try to slow their descent as quickly as possible, but that put strain on the mech's chassis and A-pods. The trick was to produce careful bursts of antigravity every ten kilometers and gradually bring the mech to a manageable speed.

"Mech is now fifty kilometers from the planet's surface." Another burst of antigravity followed the information.

It wouldn't be long now.

#

Petty Officer Severus made his way through the _Spirit_'s corridors, trying to keep his imagination in check. Given what he had seen thus far from the aliens, his mind was all but swimming with horrible possibilities about what was in store for him and his team. The task was made more difficult by his teammates, who seemed to be unable to keep their own thoughts to themselves. One in particular, a greenhorn named Grixus, was the most scared, and thereby most vocal.

"We're all in for it," he said for the thirteenth time. "We shouldn't have attacked these aliens."

"Grixus, shut up," snapped Laelia, another new recruit. Try though she might, she was unable to hide the fearful tremors in her voice.

"They want to know why we did it," Grixus continued, seeming to not have heard her. "We'll be lucky if they just kill us, I can feel it." His voice began to rise to a higher pitch. "If they take us alive, they'll torture us. They're probably already getting a room ready so they can carve us up!"

"Grixus, I swear to all the Spirits that if you don't shut up, I'm going to shoot you!"

"Both of you keep quiet," Severus ordered. "Panicking isn't going to help us."

Silence was all he heard, but given the circumstances, he took it as an indication that his order was going to be followed. Severus held up a hand signaling to stop and called up his omni-tool to see how close the alien shuttles were. To his surprise, he found that they had stopped several meters away from the ship. Severus frowned; that made no sense. When boarding an enemy ship, speed was essential. You had to get in and get in quick before the defenders could hole up, or else you'd be in for a long and bloody fight.

Laelia noticed his confusion. "What is it, sir?"

"The alien shuttles have stopped."

"Maybe they had second thoughts?" Grixus piped up hopefully.

Severus snorted. "Don't get your hopes up, rookie. They've got something planned." He tapped a few keys on his omni-tool, bringing up a communication program. Maybe the other teams had something.

"Red team, anything to report?"

The response came almost immediately. "Nothing, sir."

"Gold team, have you noticed anything out of the ordinary?"

Again, the response was quick in coming. "Aside from the obvious, nothing."

"Blue team, is everything all clear?"

Silence.

"Blue team, do you copy?"

Still, the deafening silence persisted.

_Fuck_, thought Severus. He knew better than to think that the lack of response was due to equipment failure. To his omni-tool, he said, "All teams, converge on Blue team's position in Engineering."

_Looks like the game is on_.

#

Colonel Thanasis Tarkin, commander of the 114th Legion, was not having a good day. When the offensive had first begun, there was resistance, but thanks to the preliminary bombardment it was nothing special. Then, before he knew what was happening, his legion was blitzed by what looked to be giant airborne mecha that took out most of the heavy equipment. Now, they had even _bigger_ mecha that just dropped from the sky and were currently ripping their way through his troops' ranks. Chaos was rampant, with Turian soldiers firing everywhere and yet dying by the dozens.

From the cover of a destroyed Tyrus tank, Thanasis screamed his frustration to his adjutant. "Where the fuck did these things come from?! The fleet should still be blockading this damn planet!"

The adjutant ducked down as a plasma blast slammed nearby. "We haven't gotten any word from them! The aliens are jamming all communications!"

"Well, isn't that just perfect?" the colonel snarled. "Someone get a line to General Desolas! I don't care if they're jamming us; we need to get some Spirits-damned support here!"

As he relayed his orders, he caught sight of another Tyrus firing its mass accelerator cannon at the airborne mecha, without success. Then, one of them landed right beside it with such impact that Thanasis could have sworn he had bounced nearly a foot in the air. It was a gigantic thing; he guessed it to be at least sixty feet in height, fashioned like some massive bipedal creature, complete with claws and horns, but what made it truly unnerving was how it moved. It didn't walk with a clunky and slow gait like the kind the Hierarchy used, but rather like a living creature, fluid and with purpose. What's more, Thanasis distinctly heard the thing _growl_, like how a predator would make when it catches sight of its prey.

The Tyrus's gun swiveled to face the new threat and cracked off a point-blank shot, which tore right through the mech's shoulder. The thing let out a tremendous bellow of rage and, unless Thanasis was greatly mistaken, _pain_. Thinking that the Tyrus had dealt a crippling blow, Thanasis smiled grimly. Then, to his shock, though, the wound quickly closed and the armor followed suit. Soon, it was as if it had never been hit.

The mech let out a howl of rage and grabbed hold of the Tyrus's cannon, ripping it off with contemptuous ease. Then, it curled its right hand into a massive fist and lashed out at the tank. The thirteen-ton vehicle was sent bouncing like a child's ball before coming to rest a fair distance away. Apparently not satisfied, the mech held up the same hand and, with a terrible shriek, a beam of energy slammed into the Tyrus, rendering it nothing more than flaming slag. The mech rumbled and returned to the air, looking for new enemies.

As Thanasis was marveling at how something so big could fly, his adjutant tapped him urgently on the shoulder. "Sir, I think we have more of them incoming."

The colonel's gaze followed the direction of his adjutant's talon. Sure enough, glowing trails marked what could only be more supersized mecha. Thanasis promptly summed up the situation with three simple words:

"Well, fuck me."

**Codex: Federation Mecha**

The advent of arcanotechnology brought many changes in society, and the military was no exception. Now possessing a source of limitless energy and knowledge of non-Euclidean formulas, previously impossible war machines suddenly found their way into the service of the armed forces. The most obvious, as well as iconic, was the creation of mecha. These giant bipedal walkers revolutionized warfare, being versatile, tough, lethal and capable of unleashing tremendous power. There are even designs optimized for deep sea combat, though outside of pursuing Deep Ones on Earth, they see little deployment.

Sword-Class Mecha

These mecha were designed by humanity, and served as the backbone of their armies since the days of the New Earth Government. They have earned a reputation of being a tough and reliable weapons platform, no matter where they are deployed.

**Broadsword**

Multi-Purpose Main Battle Mech

26' tall

Stocky, sturdy, heavily armored, and reliable as hell – these are the signature characteristics of the Federation's multi-purpose main battle mech. The Broadsword has become the standard to which all other mecha are measured. Its stocky torso is built for heavy armor and frame strength. Its versatile weapons array can manage any close or ranged combat situation. To this day, the Broadsword is the most widely deployed mech unit among the NEF military and can be effectively used for any tactical application. Many an enemy has experienced their last moments at the hands of a Broadsword.

**Centurion**

Tactical Powered Armor

10' tall

The Centurion has a reputation for toughness and reliability. Mobile infantry, airborne, and special operations units, as well as police and private security forces, have deployed the Centurion with considerable success. The wide distribution of the Centurion can be attributed to the flexibility of its "modular system" architecture. Interchangeable shoulder mounts, wrist mounts, and "back pack" modules allow for rapid configuration changes, creating great diversity in function.

**Claymore**

Heavy Weapons Battle Mech

38' tall

The Claymore is best suited for open terrain where it can take devastating advantage of its large laser cannon and rocket pod. Even in close quarters, this unit prefers plenty of room to slash with its hefty hyperedge blade. Even if the surrounding terrain becomes too confining, the Claymore possesses plenty of size and strength to clear as much room as it needs. Dwarfed only by certain Engels, the Claymore is an awesome sight to behold on the battlefield, and one that is often the last an enemy will see.

**Crusader**

Tactical Powered Armor

10' tall

This light and relatively inexpensive armor typically finds service within civilian sector police and security forces. However, the economy of size in the Crusader does not allow hard points for internally mounted weapons systems. The wearer must carry hand-held assault weapons, holstered sidearms, or blades. The physical design of the Crusader is such that the outer contour of the armor follows the natural shape of the human form, with only a slight increase in shoulder size. It was designed to easily maneuver through confined spaces.

**Gladius**

Close Urban Combat Battle Mech

26' tall

The urban battlefield is a place where most mecha units are unsuited for. Filled with unknown dangers and the threat of ambush around every corner, fighting within city streets has taken an enormous and costly toll among the lives of mecha pilots. Yet, where other mecha may fear, the Gladius makes its home. Built on the frame and design principles of the Broadsword, the Gladius sports enhanced ground speed for rapid urban deployment, a flamethrower for clearing ground units, and two deadly forearm hyperedge blades for close quarter combat. Advanced thermal sensors allow the Gladius to detect possible threats that may lie among the debris and structures of the urban environment.

**Rapier**

Tactical Stealth Combat Mech

18' tall

The Rapier is the ninja of the Sword-classes. Built on the same frame as the Saber, the Rapier is fast, agile, and equipped with stealth capability. It is the only Sword-class mech that sports the angles of black stealth armor. The Rapier is most often used to infiltrate behind enemy lines, plant large tactical explosives, disable enemy communications and support facilities, spot artillery barrages, perform surgical strikes, and gather enemy intelligence. Though not as fast as the Saber, the Rapier can manage a respectable 60 mph in the air, which is enough to quickly cover enemy territory and get home as soon as possible.

**Saber**

Tactical Reconnaissance Mech

18' tall

History has proven that victory on a battlefield often goes to the side that possesses the best intelligence. The Migou's Dragonfly mecha seemed to put the tactical reconnaissance advantage firmly in the lap of the aliens. That is, until the NEG deployed the Saber. Built with a smaller and lighter frame than its bigger Sword-class brothers, the Saber is equipped with the latest in surveillance and sensor equipment and serves its purpose as well today as in the past. The Saber's A-Pod configuration can propel it at a startling and fully amphibious 120 mph, making it the fastest of the Sword-classes. Its high rate of speed and on-board ECM's make the Saber a difficult target to acquire.

**Scimitar**

Artillery Support Mech

22' tall

No mecha formation in battle is complete without the Scimitar. Utilizing long-range sensors and information relays from other recon mecha, along with spec ops laser painting, the Scimitar provides crushing artillery support with deadly accuracy. Its pair of charge beams and its long-range missile rack can lay flat a given area in seconds. The Scimitar is built on a shorter and wider frame than the Broadsword, making the mech a lower profile target and easier to conceal among battlefield terrain.

**Falcata**

Multi-Purpose Amphibious Main Battle Mech

26' tall

The Falcata enhances the design characteristics of the Broadsword. Much like its cousin, the Falcata serves as a mainstay combat vehicle for amphibious operations. Its streamlined form allows the Falcata to move more rapidly and gracefully through water. This mech is designed to charge enemy positions in a vertical swim – minimizing its silhouetted target area and allowing the pilot to fire a volley of torpedoes from a "backpack" pod before reorienting itself into a horizontal position for closer ranged combat. As an A-Pod driven vehicle, the Falcata can easily erupt from the ocean surface and take flight if necessary.

**Khopesh**

Amphibious Heavy Weapons Battle Mech

38' tall

The tactical application for the Khopesh is very similar to the Falcata. Its back-mounted torpedo pod serves as a wonderful announcement to the enemy that something big and nasty is coming. The Khopesh will typically charge at the heart of an enemy position with several Falcata in flanking support. Its hulking size and crushing strength make this monster an amazing spectacle to witness in the middle of any fray. Its linked laser cannons prove again and again the distinct advantage of extreme firepower both above and below the surface of the ocean.

**Makhaira**

Amphibious Tactical Powered Armor

10' tall

The Makhaira is the latest in light armor weapons platforms. Environmental sealing and structural reinforcement against underwater pressure have made this powered armor suite a bit bulkier than its Crusader cousin. Also, the designers explored modified Jump Pods combined with an impeller drive as a primary mode of underwater propulsion. Thus, the Makhaira is equipped with a drive unit on its back that sucks water in an intake and propels it out a smaller exhaust – much like a turbine engine. These units are most often deployed from submarines with each mech carrying one of two different weapons packages.

**Xiphos**

Amphibious Artillery Support Mech

22' tall

The Falcata and the Khopesh might have all the glory in charging enemy positions. However, the Xiphos certainly sees to it that these assaults meet as little resistance as possible. Not many enemy units can stand against its twin threat of its charge beams and a high explosive torpedo or two is sure to soften up opposing forces. Like the Scimitar, the Xiphos can be vulnerable at close quarters, but very little can match this mega-sniper in ranged engagements.

Nazzadi Mecha

When the Nazzadi were assimilated into the NEG, the top minds found that these unique mecha would make a wondrous addition to the Combined Arms Concept. Nazzadi mecha are made for the purpose of "lightning war," and as such are among the fastest mecha the Federation can field, even to this day. They are named after natural weather phenomena on Earth, though their original Nazzadi names are sometimes used.

**Blizzard (Zinabi)**

Heavy Weapons Battle Mech

36' tall

The Zinabi is perhaps the fastest mecha in its size class and can leap a couple football fields to close with an enemy. They are the first wave of many assaults, tearing into the confrontation, occupying the enemy, and giving the rest of the force a chance to take position. Though more than capable of dishing out punishment in open terrain, the Blizzard gets its greatest advantage up close where it can let loose with its large lightning gun and archetypal Nazzadi acid-dripping claws. There's nothing quite like a swarm of Blizzards dropping out of the sky, as any vet of the First Arcanotech War can tell you.

**Borealis (Baraki)**

Tactical Powered Armor

10' tall

The Borealis is a suit of powered armor than can keep up with its larger brethren. Best deployed in urban or close combat situations, they blaze in, strike, and fade away, knocking out structural power as they go. The Baraki is often used by military or police forces to clear buildings or tight spaces that might be too dangerous for infantry alone. Armed with hand-held AP cannons, Special Police Powered Armor Teams (SPATs) make considerable use of the Borealis to hunt hostile lifeforms inside arcologies.

**Eclipse (Sunadi)**

Tactical Stealth Combat Mech

16' tall

The Eclipse is the true original stealth combat mech. The original Sunadi was incredibly effective in the First Arcanotech War as early New Earth Government stealth systems were anything but dependable. When Nazzadi Systems Design was formed to keep the Nazzadi martial tradition alive, the NEG asked them to help redesign its stealth units. The Eclipse remains the fastest of all, leaving most units in the dust. Used for any of the same missions as other stealth mecha, the Sunadi is most often utilized for surgical strikes where a fast, agile mech provides the best edge. Though light and fairly fragile, the Eclipse has its speed and a lightning gun to make hunters miserable.

**Gale (Tymazzi)**

Tactical Powered Armor

10' tall

Primarily designed as a support unit, the Gale is unlike many mecha its size. Not just Nazzadi fast, it has an embedded charge beam – a big hit in a small package. Staggered amongst other mecha or teamed up as support for Borealis units, the Tymazzi is versatile and is the most common type of Nazzadi powered armor used by the NEG. It's also not a bad amphibious unit for coastal deployment, though it lacks the depth reinforcement to follow some enemies into their own territory. Still, this little unit carries a certain element of surprise as no one really expects powered armor to hit quite that hard.

**Hurricane (Kameni)**

Tactical Reconnaissance Mech

14' tall

Like most Nazzadi mecha, the Hurricane fills the light and fast recon slot in the New Earth Federation's Combined Arms Concept. It is swift above or below the waves and sports a sensor suite filled with nearly all the latest systems that Nazzadi Systems Design has developed. Typically, Kameni are not combat units. They get in, get the intelligence, and get out fast, jamming communications and dropping grav bombs to slow anyone who noticed them along the way. Equipped with an X-ray system to see and the speed to catch them, it holds its own special place in the current age.

**Maelstrom (Oryladi)**

Artillery Support Mech

25' tall

Not often are harrying and support functions built into the same unit; the Maelstrom is an exception to that rule. It combines devastating artillery support with lightning speed. It analyzes targets, fires, and races to a new vantage point long before the enemy can mount an effective resistance. The Maelstrom is as named – a rain of destruction that is almost impossible to escape. Lithe and sleek like other Nazzadi mecha, the Oryladi also carries a chaff dispenser to evade the very same weapons it uses so effectively.

**Storm (Vadoni)**

Multi-Purpose Main Battle Mech

24' tall

Fast, agile and deadly. These are traits often associated with Nazzadi mecha. Nazzadi engineers claim that the Migou stayed out of mecha design, giving them the opportunity to create their own war machines. The Storm is a part of their racial identity, of which they remain proud. It is the mold from which all other Nazzadi designs are made. The modern day version of the Vadoni is an updated version of the very same mech that terrorized the nascent New Earth Government in the First Arcanotech War. Some older vets don't like being around them because of the memories they inevitably dredge up. Overall, it is built to hit fast and hit hard. It can function as an amphibious troop if necessary, though it loses its significant speed advantage. Like the Sword-class Broadsword, the Storm is effective for a wide variety of tactical applications and therefore sees the most deployment of any Nazzadi mech.

**Tornado (Daki)**

Close Urban Battle Mech

24' tall

Roaring through the streets at over 180 mph, the Tornado tears up things up close and personal, just like its namesake. The signature Nazzadi hyperedge acid-dripping claws combine with a strong frame so that the Daki can rend enemies apart with its bare hands, and its large lightning gun not only takes out groups, it takes out power systems. You know when one has come to town. Designed from the Storm, the Tornado is light for an urban combat mech and relies more on not getting hit than taking it on the chin. The magic of the NEF's Combined Arms Concept comes alive when the Tornado takes to the battlefield with its Sword-class counterpart, the Gladius. The Nazzadi mecha scream through the landscape, damaging, disrupting, and disorienting, leaving the Sword-class tanks to carve up the remains.

**Brushfire (Kazidi)**

Interceptor Mech

22' tall

While Nazzadi mecha are known for being fast, the Brushfire is especially so. Nazzadi Design Systems has been able to tweak the Brushfire in new ways, bringing out unheard of speed in a standard mech. It is an interceptor, designed to overtake incoming or retreating units and either keep them busy or slow them down until reinforcements arrive – or at least keep them on the radar. Embedded grav bombs assist with this job, though they do also slow the Brushfire down. That's where its lightning gun comes in, capable of taking on multiple units at the same time. Like its namesake, the Brushfire moves faster and causes more damage than one might expect.

**Sunspot (Roki)**

Mimic Powered Armor

10' tall

A breakthrough in mecha technology during the Aeon War, the Nazzadi Design Systems Sunspot creates a new niche within the New Earth Federation Combined Arms Concept. It utilizes two new types of technology – the Mimic System and the Limited Stealth System – to be a living lure, flushing out enemies in places where they otherwise might be impossible to reach. They can sound like Migou Battletroops giving orders, creatures from the Rapine Storm calling for help, or Deep Ones revelling in the hunt, as well as so much more. As long as the Sunspot doesn't stretch its boundaries, it can do it all from virtual invisibility, making it the perfect tool with which to set up ambushes for the NEF's enemies.

**Cyclone (Koci)**

Aquatic Support Mech

23' tall

The Cyclone and the Maelstrom share more than a few things in common. The Maelstrom's aquatic counterpart, the Koci is a sleek and fast underwater support unit, functioning with lightning speed. Although it is slightly less agile on its feet than its land-based counterpart, the Cyclone is just as capable of unleashing a storm of destruction as a harrying unit. It picks a target, fires, and races to a new position, never staying in one place long enough for the enemy to mount a coordinated response.

**Monsoon (R'davi)**

Aquatic Assault Mech

22' tall

The Monsoon typifies Nazzadi design philosophy under the waves – fast, agile, and deadly. These basic principles are what created the aquatic equivalent of the Storm. Slipping through the oceans like barracuda, the R'davi hits fast and hard both above and below the surface. Chaff keeps it safe from ordnance, while a laser cannon, torpedoes, and typical Nazzadi claws keep it a versatile combat machine. Like the Storm, the Monsoon sees the most deployment of any aquatic Nazzadi mech.

**Tsunami (Equlasi)**

Heavy Aquatic Assault Mech

34' tall

Like its namesake, the Tsunami rolls in and leaves devastation in its wake. Armed with the archetypal Nazzadi hyperedge claws and an arsenal of hard-hitting weapons, the Equlasi brings a much-needed fast heavy assault to the oceans of the NEF's war effort. The Tsunami sacrifices some of the agility of its land-bound counterpart, the Blizzard, in favor of aquatic systems and A-Pod speed. Unlike their cousins, Equlasi are usually the bruisers brought with to shore up the fight instead of the heavies sent in first to soften up the enemy.

**Undertow (Braxami)**

Aquatic Powered Armor

10' tall

The Undertow was primarily designed as a Special Forces suit of powered armor, used for aquatic covert operations. Unfortunately, the limitations inherent with mounting A-Pod related hardware on mecha as small as Powered Armor means that the Braxami is not as blazing fast as most of its brethren. It fills a necessary slot for versatility in the Nazzadi mecha scheme, capable of deftly finding its way where other war machines cannot reach. It is a still a nimble and dangerous piece of machinery.

**Codex: Engels**

The brainchild of Anton Miyakame, Engels are living creatures that have been cloned and spliced with genes from humans, Nazzadi and things best left unmentioned. Heavy cybernetic augmentations and thick armor plating are added to the mix, along with a partially organic uterine pouch for a pilot to occupy in the torso. The final picture is both awe inspiring and terrifying to behold. Engels are always deployed to the heaviest fighting, and will see more action than many mecha pilots ever will. They are also far rarer, with one Engel to every six mecha the Federation has. To this day, Engels remain unable to be mass produced; the processes involved in their creation cannot be sped up without inevitable disaster.

An LAI used in mecha is implanted into the creature's brain and central nervous system. The pilot interfaces with the Engel via an Engel Synthesis Interface chip placed within their own brain. Piloting an Engel is not like piloting a mech; the creature has a mind of its own with distinct personalities and when interfacing, the pilot must essentially join minds with it, which they call "communing." Pilots develop strong bonds with their Engels, and usually name them after angels, such as Gabriel, Azrael and so forth. The Engels themselves are normally docile except when activated for battle, whereupon they become a veritable force of nature. Thick armor, powerful weapons, immense physical strength and potent healing factors make them a nightmare for any who face them. Should their pilot be killed or rendered unconscious, however, then anything (save for other Engels) deemed threatening will become a target, whether they are friend or foe.

**Aral**

Tactical Stealth Combat Engel

28'tall

Shadow beasts – that is what Arals are sometimes called. Because of their size, Arals see different usage than other stealth mecha. They are sent on the toughest black ops and surveillance missions, to places where mecha like the Rapier or the Eclipse would be underpowered. Unlike the Malach or the Seraph, the Aral has difficulty concealing its terrifying nature. It has two faces. The first, its public face, is unusually shaped, but is otherwise comparatively unassuming. However, when threatened the Aral's second face comes out. Plates slide back to reveal its gigantic maw of organic needle-sharp teeth and the spurs pop out of the top of its feet, like some gigantic prehistoric packhunting dinosaur. The creature inside must be a nocturnal predators, as pilots have reported that Arals seem "happiest" working at night.

**Auphan**

Tactical Reconnaissance Engel

28' tall

Auphans are unnerving to watch – their heads constantly rove back and forth, searching out every detail. Auphans are one of the fastest mecha in the NEF's arsenal. Like their cousins the Arals, Auphans see much heavier and more dangerous deployment than their fellow recon mecha. Also like many Engels, they conceal monstrous features. Housings snap open to release alien mandibles that drip with organic acid. Pilots have reported that they prefer to lurk in fog, storms, or other obscuring conditions, and that the creature has a sadistic streak – it likes to play with its prey.

**Cherub**

Artillery Support Engel

35' tall

The old images of fat, winged children go out the window when the Cherub takes the field. Its gigantic, organic acid-dripping stinger tail makes it easy to recognize, as it whips out behind the Engel like an unruly snake. It is one of the only support mecha to sport linked rocket pods. Few others are large enough to accommodate the weapons system or strong enough to withstand the back-blast. Also, unlike other support mecha, Cherubs aren't afraid to wade into close combat to get their hands dirty. In fact, it seems that they prefer to put those tails to use. Some pilots say that Cherubs are mildly claustrophobic, preferring wide-open spaces to the confines of urban or jungle conflict.

**Malach**

Heavy Weapons Engel

40' tall

The first of their kind, Malachs are the baseline Engel, if there is such a thing. They are, from a PR standpoint, a favorite, as their armored casing completely conceals their otherworldly natures. However, like most other Engels, Malachs have something organic about them to remind people of their true origins – in this case, it is the long, sinewy tentacles that slither out of a forearm. Some NEF Engel pilots report that Malachs prefer low, dense terrain where they can stick to the ground and use their speed to their advantage. They also say that Malachs are bloodthirsty and often sullen if the carnage from a conflict is too "light."

**Seraph**

Super-Heavy Engel

60' tall

Nothing strikes fear into the hearts of the NEF's enemies like Seraphs. Regal, proud, and unafraid, they stand almost 60' tall – one of two Behemoth-class mecha in the NEF's arsenal. Propaganda posters prominently show Seraphs with their giant organic curling horns towering over enemies like conquering kings, an icon for the New Earth Government. They are the pride and joy of the Engel Project, and not coincidentally one of the most recently developed types. Aside from their horns, Seraphs display two other organic traits – their forearm tentacle sheath and their natural resistance to subzero temperatures. Pilots describe Seraphs as being utterly fearless, with a love for the clouds.

**Tarshish**

Close Urban Engel

32' tall

Like the Aral, the Tarshish is not a favorite of the NEF's PR machine, for obvious reasons. The creature's almost 15' long, black, talon-tipped, corrosive soaked tongue darts in and out if its mouth almost constantly, even when there's nothing for it to strike at. Eternally crouched and menacing, many suspect that whatever's underneath the armor casing must be pretty heavily concealed. Unsurprisingly, pilots say that the Tarshish are most at home in tight, enclosed spaces, and are more than a little agoraphobic.

**Chashmal**

Super-Heavy Engel

55' tall

Cousin to the Seraph, they are the second of only two "breeds" of Behemoth-class mecha in the New Earth Federation. Since their creation, Chashmals have seen more than their fair share of action. Chashmals display only one organic trait – vicious talons that secrete a sticky caustic ooze. These talons fortunately naturally retract so the Engel Project had no need to hide them in its design. Pilots often say that Chashmals remind them of fictional dragons – strong and proud, with a terrible fury.

**Shinnan**

Heavy Weapons Engel

40' tall

More recently developed than their Malach cousins, Shinnan are brutal, ruthless, and definitely not a PR magnet. Their organic traits are difficult to conceal – huge wicked pincers and a tightly coiled stinger tail, bringing to mind the image of a gigantic scorpion. Whatever is inside the machine is a creature whose environment must be some kind of desert wasteland, as it is extraordinarily resistant to extreme heat. Some NEF Engel pilots report that their Shinnan prefer the cover of darkness and terrain with places to dart in and out of. They also say that the creatures are aggressive, but sneaky.

**Hamshall**

Aquatic Assault Engel

38' tall

The underwater equivalent of the Malach or the Shinnan, the Hashmall is the quintessential sea predator, made to seek out Deep Ones and other lurking terrors. The scientists of the Engel Project worked an amazing feat when they figured out how to conceal the organic weapons of the monster inside the Hamshall's mechanical shell. Its otherworldly aquatic nature reveals itself when the prehensile "tail" snakes out of its housing, bearing more resemblance to the guard tentacle of a giant squid than a tail, or when the mass of thin, long tendrils bursts out of its faceplate. Some pilots say that Hamshalls are cunning and instinctively "suggest" moves and attacks. They also say Hamshalls are skittish when out of the water.

**Ish**

Aquatic Support Engel

32' long

Snaking its way through the dark waters, Ish bring devastation to the depths. Strange in design, even for an Engel, Ish are easy to recognize – armored serpents loaded with ordnance. Like their cousin, the Cherub, their organic traits make Ish unafraid to fight up close. While normally an Ish's undulating tail helps it swim, concealed in its tip is a dangerous stinger and from out of its mouth snaps a wicked tongue that skewers prey. Some pilots say that Ish are uncomfortable above the waves, preferring the murky deep as their hunting grounds.


	5. Chapter 4: Fury and Horror

Chapter 4

Fury and Horror

With a last burst of antigravity, Jacob's Gladius finally touched down. The impact was lessened by the A-pods, but the seventy-ton mech still landed with enough force to jar him nicely. "Hostiles detected," Jacob's LAI said. "Initiating targeting protocols." Red auras appeared in his screen, highlighting enemy combatants. Jacob immediately fired a bolt of plasma at the nearest one, erasing it from existence.

Unfortunately, that suddenly made him a major threat to the aliens. The LAI flashed warnings that he was being targeted by multiple hostiles. Jacob gunned his A-pods, rocketing straight into the air, and in the nick of time; several enemy missiles screamed past the Gladius, one nearly hitting his cockpit. Before they could fire again, he let off several more plasma blasts, each one striking home.

"That was too close," Jacob muttered to himself. His comm system crackled.

"This is Quickdraw. I've come under heavy fire and am pinned down. Request immediate assistance." It was hard to believe that this was the same Jimmy Ferguson who only a few hours ago was fretting about being the most vulnerable to enemy attacks. The guy sounded as if he was simply asking for help making coffee.

"Quickdraw, Chrome reads you," Jacob replied, all the while punching in commands for the LAI to locate Jimmy. "I am coming to assist. Standby."

The LAI quickly found Jimmy and Jacob wasted no time in rushing over to his position. Jacob found him ducking behind the wreckage of an enemy tank, and had another one bearing down on him. He noticed that the tank bore a number of deep scorch marks on its body; Jimmy had obviously managed to get some good shots off, but the armor was too durable for such a small laser cannon. Add the fact that its gun looked like it could punch through his own mech's armor, Jacob decided that the vehicle had to be destroyed, and quickly.

Jacob pressed a button, and the two hyperedge blades retracted within the Gladius's arms sprang out. A surge of antigravity launched him into the air and right behind the tank. Manipulating the mech's arms, Jacob plunged both blades into its chassis. The material it was made of was strong, but hyperedge blades were designed to cut through just about anything. Jacob jerked the mech's arms forward, slicing the top half of the tank clean off. By some strange twist of fortune, its crew somehow managed to not get eviscerated in the process.

This was the first time he'd seen the aliens up close. They had a distinctly avian appearance, though he was at a loss as to what the mandibles were for. Jacob allowed himself an amused smile at what could only be expressions of sheer shock on their faces and then opened up with his flamethrower on them. His broadband audio was switched off, but even so he could still swear he heard their screams. For some reason, it disturbed him.

He quickly put it out of his mind; plenty of time to reflect on that later. Jimmy's voice came in over his comms.

"Thanks for the assist, Chrome. Just my luck, I land and the first thing in front of me is a goddamn tank."

"That's what the big mecha are for," Jacob replied. The ground trembled as Alison's Claymore landed next to them.

"Quickdraw, is everything all right?" Though to an untrained ear, Alison's voice might seem wholly professional, Jacob detected an undercurrent of concern. No one wanted to lose one of their team, especially when they were in charge.

"I'm good, Excalibur. Chrome took care of things before they got out of hand."

"Have you taken any damage?"

"Just a slight graze, Excalibur. Damage control systems are already repairing it."

Another thunderous tremor announced the arrival of Jon and his Broadsword. "Mastodon here. Are the bad guys already gone?"

Jacob could hear the smile in Alison's voice. "Looks like it. Don't worry, there's plenty more where they came from." In a heartbeat, she turned dead serious. "Okay, boys, playtime's over. The last of the Sword-classes have landed, so it's time to secure the area. Our objective is to take and hold these coordinates." Jacob's navcomp marked out the area they were assigned. "We'll be joining with Sword squadrons Omicron and Theta, along with the Nazzadi Scarlet Daggers squadron and Engels Chashmal-086, Auphan-144, Cherub-367 and Tarshish-250. Move out!"

#

As he neared Engineering, Severus felt as though his heart was going to beat its way out of his chest. Deep within his mind, some primal sense of self-preservation was all but screaming at him to turn around. Only the discipline that had been hammered into him throughout his years of service kept him moving forward.

The Petty Officer signaled to stop. He looked back at his team, each one looking scared out of their minds and gripping their weapons so tightly he could almost hear the metal creak.

"We're nearing Engineering," he said in a voice barely above a whisper, though in the abject silence that hung around them, it seemed to carry the volume of a deafening shout. "Keep your weapons ready and your eyes open. You see anything, even so much as a flicker of a shadow, let the rest of us know. Understood?"

"Yes sir," they said, voices constricted with fear.

Severus motioned for them to continue advancing. Soon, the Engineering Bay doors stood before them. A few taps on the holographic pad and the doors opened. Darkness, broken only by a few flickering lights, greeted them. Severus growled internally; already things were not going well. Without light, they couldn't see, but if they turned on their rifle lights, they might as well hold up signs saying "here we are!" It came down to a choice of evils, and Severus preferred to not stumble around and make things even easier for whatever might be hiding in there. Activating his assault rifle's flashlight, he stepped inside the room.

The bay had seen better days; wires hung from dislodged panels, workbenches were torn from where they were welded down and debris was scattered everywhere. Severus winced as he and his team treaded over some broken glass, the crunching sound seeming to reverberate all throughout the bay. Nothing came, and he tried to get his nerves under control.

As Severus moved forward, he felt his foot come into contact with something sticky. Aiming his light down, he saw a thick coating of deep blue fluid seeping around him. With sickening dread, he realized what he was looking at: Turian blood. Severus felt his arms trembling as he moved his light upwards, and the source of it was soon revealed.

"Spirits…" he choked out and his two companions made muted noises of stark horror.

The members of Blue team were piled in front of them, mutilated so savagely that it was impossible to tell one body from another and arrayed like a macabre piece of artwork. Limbs stuck out at impossible angles and organs spilled out of shredded cadavers while thick cobalt-colored blood leaked from them, but the most terrible part was the heads placed neatly on top of the pile, their faces frozen in screams of fear and pain.

With difficulty, Severus managed to keep the contents of his stomach down, though the same could not be said for his team. Behind him, Severus could hear the sounds of Grixus and Laelia puking up their last meal.

Laelia was the first to recover. Wiping bile from her mandibles, she turned shakily back to the pile of bodies. "Spirits above, what could have done this? Even Vorcha aren't this savage."

"I don't know," stated Severus grimly. "Get Grixus back on his feet; we need to stay alert."

As Laelia went to assist her comrade, he moved in closer to examine the hellish carnage. A quick look told him that no projectile weaponry had been used in this killing. The Turians had been ripped apart, armor and all. That meant that whatever had done this was incredibly strong. Though the standard armor worn by Turian soldiers was built more for movement than durability, it was still capable of weathering a fair bit of punishment.

As he continued to look over the corpses, he noticed something off. At first glance, it looked like the twisted limbs had simply been broken, but a closer inspection revealed that the unnatural curves and angles were smooth and uninterrupted, as if they had simply grown that way on their own.

It was now plainly obvious that they were dealing with something out of their league. Severus immediately pulled up his omni-tool and sent out a warning to the other teams.

"All teams, this is Petty Officer Severus. Blue team is KIA and we have unidentified hostiles aboard the ship. Be advised, we have no knowledge of their numbers or their capabilities. Continue towards Engineering, but exercise extreme caution. Severus out."

With that, he put away his omni-tool and barked order to his own team. "Form up, back to back. Keep your guns at the ready and look sharp." Soon, Severus and his team were arranged in a triangular formation, ensuring that there were no blind spots.

For the next several minutes, Severus and his team kept their eyes peeled for anything that even remotely looked like a threat. Every shadow could be hiding an enemy, so they were constantly jumping at the tiniest flickers of movement. By the ten minute mark, all three were borderline nervous wrecks, and there was still no sign of the other teams.

"Where are they?" Laelia finally said. "It shouldn't take this long to get here."

Severus was also wondering about that. Red and Gold should have been here by now. He activated his omni-tool's comms and attempted to make contact with them. "Red and Gold teams, what are your positions?"

No reply came. Again, Severus tried to make contact, but all he got was silence. Endless, maddening silence. It was safe to assume that both teams were out of the action.

"They've already been killed," Grixus whimpered. His hands were shaking so badly he could barely point it straight. "Whatever killed Blue team took out the others and we're next!"

"Grixus!" Severus snarled. "Keep it together! Panicking is only going to make things worse."

Just then, the sound of something heavy landing on the floor reached them. In unison, they aimed their guns at the sound's origin. Severus felt adrenaline surge through him, overriding his fear. Keeping his gun pointed dead ahead, he called out, "We know you're there! Come out where we can see you, and put your hands, or whatever appendages you use, behind your head! You have until the count of ten to comply before my team and I open fire! One…two…"

His counting was interrupted by the telltale sound of footsteps, marking the approach of something. They were leisurely, as if whatever was making them was completely unconcerned about facing armed Turians. Severus tightened his grip on his assault rifle, mentally assuring himself that he was prepared for the thing coming towards him and his team.

Then, the thing stepped into the illumination of an overhead light.

The monster, for there was no other word to describe the creature that now presented itself, stood ten feet tall with skin a deep crimson which covered taught musculature. A pair of membranous wings, each as long it was tall, were folded behind its back. Long, tapered hands with five fingers each flexed in anticipation and its fanged maw seemed to be permanently twisted into a cruel snarl. The eyes, however, were the worst part of the thing; they were bone-white orbs that stared with such a malevolent intensity that Severus could not bear to look into them. It took every ounce of his willpower to stop himself from running away in terror.

His teammates seemed to fare little better. He heard Grixus make a strange sound, half whimper and half choking sputter. Laelia made no sound at all, seemingly too petrified to do anything other than stare. Severus didn't blame them; no amount of training could have prepared them for this.

The creature took a step forward, and Severus snapped out of his haze of fear. Pointing his rifle squarely at the creature's chest, he shouted, "Stop right there! Come any closer, and I'll shoot!" His voice seemed break through to Grixus and Laelia as they too leveled their weapons.

If the monster was perturbed by the Turians with pointed guns in front of it, it gave no indication. Instead, it took another step closer, and Severus felt as though it was deliberately taunting him, daring him to pull the trigger. He suddenly burned with anger.

"You think I won't shoot you, you Spirits-damned freak?! You take one more step and I will _end_ you!"

Still, the creature remained unfazed. Another step brought it within arm's reach of the Turians. Slowly, teasingly, it extended one of its clawed hands towards Severus.

"Open fire!"

With that, the three Turians let loose a barrage of mass accelerated bullets, tearing holes in the monster's flesh and kept on firing until their guns overheated. The creature sank to its knees, its chest cavity riddled with bloody holes; nothing could survive an injury like that, not even a Krogan with all their redundant systems.

The monster seemed to disagree.

Right before the Turians' disbelieving eyes, it slowly rose back to its feet. To their further dismay, the ragged wounds their bullets had inflicted began to vanish and were healed in less than a minute. Wet hacking sounds gurgled from the creature, and steadily became louder. With cold dread, Severus realized that it was _laughing_. The gunfire had done nothing more than amuse it!

Then it struck.

Its long arm became a red blur as it grabbed hold of Severus and tossed him off to the side as though he were weightless. The breath whooshed out of him as he struck a wall and was left slumped on the floor, gasping for breath. Now unable to move, he could only watch as the monster turned its attention towards his team. Grixus was the first to be targeted. He let out a wail of despair and tried to bring his gun up, but the monster was too fast; it grabbed hold of the weapon and tore it from his hands. To his credit, Grixus didn't try to go after it like so many rookies were wont to do, but instead drew his sidearm. Once again, the creature was too quick, and its tapered hand caught him by the arm before could bring the pistol to bear.

Then, Severus witnessed something truly disturbing: the monster bent the young Turian's arm downward, but there was no sound of bone breaking. Instead, the arm _curved_, forming a smooth crescent. Grixus shrieked, both in pain and horror, before falling to his knees.

"My arm!" he sobbed. "Spirits, my arm!" He began to pull frantically at the deformed limb, as though he could somehow put it back to its natural state. It was soon rendered a moot point; the monster casually took hold of Grixus's head and he began to scream anew. Strange bubbling sounds could be heard and blood began to burst forth from areas on his body. Grixus thrashed about, trying to dislodge himself from his captor's grip, to no avail. Soon, he struggled no more and went limp. With what could only be a sound of contentment, the creature let the body drop to the floor and began to make its way over to Severus, who still had not gotten his wind back.

Laelia, at that moment, went ballistic. The fear of what might be waiting for them, seeing a pile of maimed bodies, being in the presence of a Spirits-cursed _demon_ who shrugged off enough military-grade weapons' fire to kill a Krogan twice over and finally witnessing the death of her teammate proved too much for her. Letting out a keening scream, she opened up with her sub-machine gun at full auto.

"YOU BASTARD!" she shrieked. "YOU MOTHERFUCKING SON OF A BITCH!"

The creature growled, clearly annoyed by this distraction. Though the bullets tore into its body, they were quick to heal. Soon, Laelia's gun overheated; without pause, she tossed it aside and went for her own sidearm, cracking off shots for all it was worth. Much like the machine gun, it yielded no success; if their main weapons barely qualified as an irritation, then the pistol's firepower amounted to little more than a tickle. Within moments, the monster had closed the distance and seized her by the throat, holding her aloft with obvious ease. Laelia beat and clawed at its arm, which the creature took no notice of. The fingers of its other hand flexed eagerly, and Severus knew that unless he did something, she was as good as dead.

Staggering to his feet, Severus reclaimed his assault rifle and unloaded a burst of rounds into the monster's back. Slowly, it turned its head to face him, the baleful white eyes glaring at him with murderous intent.

"What's wrong, freak-show? Can't finish what you started?" he jeered, firing another burst into its face. This time, he got a reaction from the creature; it let out a snarl of pain, dropping Laelia and clutching the area the Petty Officer had hit. Though the wound was soon gone, Severus could tell that he had managed to make it angry. Severus gave the Turian equivalent of an impudent smirk and began to circle around the creature, attempting to draw it away from the female Turian. It obliged, matching Severus's movement and never taking its eyes off of him.

"That's right, you ugly abomination. You don't want that trainee you got there. I'm the better sport; a veteran with decades under his belt." He maneuvered himself in front of Laelia and said out of the corner of his mouth, "Get back to the bridge and warn everyone. Tell the captain that we need to get a distress signal out. I'll keep this demon occupied."

"Sir, you can't—"

"Go. That's an order."

Laelia hesitated for a moment before finally relenting. A Turian might object, but in the end, they would follow their orders. "Aye-aye."

She broke into a dead sprint, speeding past the monster. As she did, it reached out in an attempt to stop her, only to receive another blast to face, courtesy of Severus. The monster let out a sibilant hiss; Severus now had its full and undivided attention.

"Not so fast," he said. "Dinner first, then dessert; didn't your mother teach you anything?"

The creature hissed again and began to advance on him, murder etched in its every feature. Severus knew that it had no intention of giving him a quick death; his was going to be a prolonged and agonizing ordeal.

"That's right," he said. "You want your revenge, don't you? You want to rip me open and see what make me tick. Well, come and get me." Since it was unlikely that the creature understood him, he decided to get his challenge across via another burst of bullets aimed at its groin.

The monster looked down at the area he had shot and then back at Severus, its look of incredulity almost comical. Almost. That quickly changed into what could only be unbridled rage. With a terrible screech, the monster attacked, its right hand aimed to take Severus's head off. It was so fast that he nearly failed to dodge it. Severus fired burst after burst at the monster, knowing full well that he was doing nothing more than irking it. He had to last as long as he could; the more time the monster spent trying to kill him, the more time Laelia had to get to the bridge.

The monster lashed out again, and this time Severus wasn't fast enough; it backhanded him squarely in the chest with the force of a speeding aircar, sending him careening head over heels down the Engineering bay. He heard the sound of multiple cracks and a searing pain flooded his chest. Severus quickly took measure of the damage; several cracked ribs and plates, but other than that, nothing.

Hacking out a glob of spit, Severus noticed that his gun and sidearm had been lost during his tumble across the bay. Clambering back to his feet, he unsheathed his combat knife. It was a family heirloom, having first seen action in the Krogan Rebellions and had been passed down through the generations. Time to make his ancestors proud.

An instant later, the monster was on top of him. Severus sidestepped a swipe from its claws and carved a long gash across its midsection. He ducked another backhanded strike and slashed at the thing's legs in a classic hamstringing move. Neither of these injuries did any lasting damage; in fact, they healed even quicker than the bullet wounds. Severus was a bit disappointed; he had known that survival was all but nonexistent, but he would have at least liked to give the monster something to remember him by.

Though the fight had only progressed for a few minutes, it felt like hours to Severus. He ducked and weaved, making a point to avoid getting caught in the creature's grasp lest he end up like Grixus. His injuries steadily became more debilitating and he knew he would not last much longer.

Moments later, the monster finally landed a blow; Severus felt its heavy fist smash into his midsection. He could feel something pop, and a fresh wave of pain coursed through him. He coughed, and a globule of blood was spat out.

"Well, that's not good," he muttered.

The creature, sensing its opportunity, pressed its attack. Stars danced in front of Severus's eyes as the thing's fist clipped his temple, rendering him unable to steady himself. He guessed that he had suffered a severe concussion. That was quickly rendered a lesser concern as another fist smashed into the lower region of his spine and his legs went numb. He fell to the floor, face down.

Steely fingers wrapped around his neck and the Turian was borne aloft like a rag doll. Severus was soon face to face with monster, which looked at him with triumph. Slowly, it raised its free hand with a single elongated finger extended. It now had him at its mercy, and the creature was going to milk it for all it was worth; the finger inched forward.

Severus glared back at the creature and spat, "Go on, get it over with, you freak."

It ignored him and continued to edge its finger towards his forehead. After what seemed like an eternity, the digit finally connected. Every nerve ending in his body suddenly felt as though white-hot knives were stabbing them. It was agony to the worst degree, and Severus wished that his body would just shut down.

A few seconds later, his wish was granted, and darkness swallowed him.

#

Carnage, the Bloodgod leader of Golgotha Pack (or, as Tagers preferred to call their teams, Murder), retracted his finger when he saw his target go limp. He chuffed in disappointment; he had hoped it would have lasted a little longer. The alien wasn't dead, though, just unconscious, which was for the better; the para-psychic interrogators needed live bodies to get answers and as per orders, Golgotha and Jericho needed to capture some high-ranking aliens. They also wanted a few grunts to practice on before they had a go at the leaders. It wouldn't do any good if one of them accidentally rendered the aliens' head honchos brain-dead by being unfamiliar with how their minds worked.

Carnage shifted his grip and inspected his victim. The alien was in a bad way; his symbiont showed him that he (at least he thought it was a he) bore a number of fractured bones, severe spinal trauma and a few ruptured organs. It was honestly amazing the alien was still alive at all.

_Guess I was a bit rough with him_, he thought. _But that's what happens when you shoot a guy in the dick_. Still, he had to give the alien credit; they weren't many things that could, or were even _willing_, to go toe to toe against a Tager, let alone one as powerful as a Bloodgod, yet this specimen managed to hold his own for a fair bit.

Carnage gave the alien about an hour left to live without medical attention. No matter, for as a Bloodgod Tager, flesh was a mound of clay to do with as he pleased; even the worst injury was not beyond his ability to heal if he so chose. Gently, he lowered the alien on the floor and set about repairing the damage he had inflicted. Bones knitted back together, the burst organs shifted back to their original state and the spinal cord was returned to full functionality.

Now that his captive was no longer in danger of dying, Carnage sent out a telepathic call to one of his Pack mates.

_Snitch, you hear me_?

The reply came almost immediately. _Of course, Alpha. What can I do for you_?

_I took out another alien team, but one got away. Think you can find it_?

Snitch was a Dream, a Tager who was made to find things, with senses that eclipsed all other Tager symbionts. Even the thoughts of others were not safe from a Dream's gaze.

Carnage could almost feel Snitch smirk. _Can I find it? Please, Alpha, that's child's play. A better question would be how fast can I find it_?

_Good._ Carnage reached out to another member. _Creeper, speak to me_.

Like with Snitch, the reply came in short order. _Present, Alpha. I hear that another group of aliens went where you and I just were. Did they happen to see my little exhibition_?

Creeper was a Horror, one of the even less-than savory Tager symbionts. Both Widows and Horrors had an ingrained fascination with the grotesque. Whenever they went on the hunt, you could expect a particularly gruesome aftermath, often setting their victims' bodies up like grisly art displays. It didn't help that merely being in the presence of a Horror instilled primal terror in mortals; even other Tagers felt distinctly uneasy around them.

_They did indeed_, Carnage replied. _Two of them lost their lunches after seeing it_. He was willing to bet that Creeper was quite pleased with himself after hearing that. _But enough of that; there's a runner that got away from me. I need you and Snitch to catch it. _Alive,_ by the way; the psy-boys need living brains to cut their teeth on. You two understand_?

Both Snitch and Creeper promptly declared that they did and with that, they set off on the hunt. A soft moan reach the Bloodgod's ears, reminding him that he had his own prisoner to secure.Carnage smirked down at the alien; he was going to be in for a rude awakening.

#

As his unit made their way to their objective, Jacob reflected that the overall battle was going far better than anyone had dared hope. Thus far, there had been no reported casualties on their side, but the aliens had suffered staggering losses. Though they still commanded a large presence, it was estimated that, in the first hour the mecha had initiated the assault, roughly fifteen percent of all planet-side alien forces had been destroyed. Some pilots remarked that if things kept going like this, they wouldn't even need the ground forces.

Jacob was jolted out of his thoughts as the leader of their assigned unit, Lieutenant Ivan Kuzma, callsign Mad Man, came in through his comms.

"Stay frosty, everyone," he said, his accented voice calm and collected. "We are approaching our designated field of battle. The Scarlet Daggers will go in first, take out enemy armor and pave the way for the rest of us. On my mark, engage and terminate all enemy combatants with extreme prejudice. Mad Man out."

Jacob brought his mech to a halt alongside the rest of his team. The other squadrons and Engels did the same while the Nazzadi mecha blasted off to do what they did best: hit hard and fast and leave the enemy wondering what in the holy hell just happened. Jon's voice came in over the comms.

"Hope they leave some for the rest of us. I came here to do some damage." He sounded like a child who was stuck in line for ice cream and his favorite flavor was almost gone.

"Don't worry, Mastodon," Jacob said. "There's an entire army left. We just need to secure a good landing area."

Further banter was halted as Ivan came on the comms. "All squadrons, commence the attack. Show no mercy."

Omicron and Theta took off in the direction the Scarlet Daggers had gone. Sigma Squadron was quick to follow; Jacob fired up his A-pods and made his way to the battlefield. The Engels took up the rear, no doubt eager to wade into the fray.

A few seconds of travel time later and they arrived at the site. The Nazzadi had already done their damage; Jacob could see the ruined hulks of tanks and other armored vehicles, fried by their mecha's lightning guns. A few still remained, trying to pick them out of the sky and failing miserably. Their soldiers were hardly faring better, launching missiles and other anti-vehicle ordnance. So focused on destroying their current enemy, they didn't notice the other mecha until it was too late.

The Sword-classes and Engels came crashing down in their midst. Some unlucky aliens were crushed underneath their massive feet, their forms reduced to little more than flattened smears on the ground. Before the aliens could register that they had new hostiles, the mecha opened up with all their fury while the Nazzadi mecha stayed in the air, taking potshots at opportune targets.

As Jacob unleashed the power of his plasma cannon and flamethrower, he began to take notice of his surroundings. From his real-time display screen, he saw Jimmy take out a squad of aliens with uncanny accuracy, his laser cannon striking them in their center mass. He saw Alison's Claymore smash aside another squad with a massive armored fist, the force behind it turning them into lumps of gore reminiscent of chunky salsa, but blue in color. He saw Jon's Broadsword scoop up two aliens in either "hand," squashing one like an overripe fruit and hurling the other off into the distance.

The Engels were no less ferocious; in fact, they were even more ruthless than the mecha pilots. Even as he watched, Jacob saw the Auphan snatch up an alien soldier and began to happily pluck its limbs off like a child would do to a bothersome fly. He shuddered in distaste; Auphan's were one of the nastier breeds of Engels, due in part to their temperament; they possessed an inherent sadistic streak and preferred to toy with their prey before killing it. Their pilots might be able to curb that impulse, but totally suppressing it was impossible.

Under this relentless assault, the aliens were soon annihilated. Jacob looked over at the digital clock on his display; the fight had lasted less than half an hour.

Ivan's voice shortly came in. "Good work, everyone. We've now secured sufficient territory to begin landing ground forces. Our orders are to hold this position until further notice. Understood?"

A chorus of "yes sir"s could be heard echoing on the channel.

"Good," the unit leader said. "Once the rest of the army's down, we'll link up with Shanxi's garrison commander and destroy these invaders once and for all."

Cheers now reverberated throughout the channel, and Jacob added his own to the mix.

**Codex: Tagers**

The product of a merging between a mortal subject and Ta'ge symbiont, Tagers are truly strange and terrifying beings. They are people who can summon a monstrous exoskeleton over their bodies that grant them tremendous power. Physical abilities enhanced well beyond human limitations and a potent healing factor is granted to the host. In addition, each Tager symbiont grants its host a unique power; some serve to befuddle enemies, others to kill in gruesome ways.

Tagers came into being when a group from the Chrysalis Corporation discovered the true nature of the company and broke away, eventually forming the Eldritch Society. When they did, they took numerous documents containing eldritch lore; among these was a copy of the _Ta'ge Fragments_, which was supposedly penned by the Forgotten One Drazet. It detailed a ritual in which a mortal would be bound with a creature from beyond space and time. Thus, the first Tagers were born and would come to be staunch enemies of the Old Ones and their servants.

In the past, Tagers could only strike from the shadows as the Corporation was too well entrenched in the NEG's inner workings. It was not until the creation of the Demigods that the Eldritch Society could inflict true damage upon it. Presently, the Tagers are considered official government operatives, specializing in black-ops and for hunting down otherworldly creatures that prove to be more than ordinary people can handle. Tagers are organized into Packs (though they prefer to call their groupings Murders) with a dozen members each. Unlike most other units, there is no de facto source of naming; they simply choose whatever sounds good. Like mecha and Engel pilots, Tagers will take callsigns for themselves, often words with darker meanings.

To become a Tager is no easy feat. It involves extreme conditioning, both mentally and physically, meditation and a host of other training, all of which are designed to push a potential Tager to the breaking point. Should one pass these grueling regimes, they will undergo a three-day ritual where they cannot eat, drink or relieve themselves for the entire duration. Should everything go well, they will be bonded with a symbiont and become something more than mortal.

Ta'ge Symbionts

There is no way to determine what kind of symbiont will manifest itself towards a potential host, though some appear more frequently than others. Once bonded, the host can call upon it at will, bringing its formidable power to bear in an instant. The symbiont will also influence its host's personality, causing them to adopt traits that particular Ta'ge possesses.

**Nightmare**

Heavy Weapons Tager

9' tall

Looking down at you with its mass of uneven eyes, the Nightmare bristles like the machine of death that it is. If your feet weren't frozen in place, you'd run anywhere to get away from it. It has a dozen ways to kill you, but it can't seem to decide how…

The Nightmare lives up to its name and then some. Uncommon and enormous, it stands more than a head taller than most other Tagers and strikes commensurately more fear. Despite its bulk, it is just as fast as other Tagers, though it hits much harder. While it's as heavily armored as the Phantom, what makes a Nightmare more deadly is its accelerated rate of regeneration. It might heal from almost dead to deadly in less than five minutes.

Combined with its significant strength, the claws of a Nightmare make it lethal up close. But it is best known for its deadly Shoulder Pods. These Pods disgorge crimson force balls at targets within a 180° arc of the Tager's front, punching into them like the rounds of a large machinegun. They track and fire together like the eyes of some horrible beast and together they manifest the terrible Mystic Blast. The Pods condense energy into three triangular floating gravity points, finally firing a trigger blast through the center and releasing all the energy at once. It cuts an eight-foot tall, five-foot wide swathe of destruction in a straight line for 400 yards, happily punching through walls and other solid objects.

The Nightmare is a dangerous and bloodthirsty symbiont. Those who are bound with one develop a certain menace and predatory ease, combined with a cold temper and murderous streak.

**Phantom**

Multi-Purpose Battle Tager

7-7'8 tall

The Phantom is one of the two most common Tagers, along with the Mirage. They are heavily armed, tough, and equipped with one of the most terrifying Limit Weapons of all the symbionts.

The weapons of a Phantom make it deadly all around. A magical electrical blast that generates out of the Tager's forehead, the Arcane Blast fires the equivalent of a heavy round with deadly accuracy. The Phantom's exceptional strength combined with the sharp blades that extend out of its forearms make it a vicious killer up close. Not even aerial targets are safe, as its awful Howl brings fliers to the ground – and knocks other opponents off their feet. Groups of Phantoms sometimes Howl, an unnatural and almost unholy sound, as a battle cry that echoes into the night.

However, it's the Limit Weapon of the Phantom that is most feared, and not coincidentally coveted by many other Tagers. A mass of black tentacles burst out of its chest, flaying the flesh off those unlucky enough to get in the way. Before they return, the symbiont chooses one of these victims as its meal. It drags the screaming victim back into the dimensional cavity from which it came and swallows him whole. This is a little intimidating and it's also an ingenious way to hide dead bodies.

The Phantom's armor and ability to regenerate are both significant, so it can take a beating and still handle itself. It is a balanced organism, useful in just about any situation.

Phantoms are sleek and aggressive symbionts. Those who are bound with one develop an attunement with their body and a confident awareness, combined with a sense of freedom and a certain bloodlust.

**Shadow**

Stealth Combat Tager

7-7'8 tall

Something that can't be seen, the Shadow is the thing that moves in the corner of one's eye. Spy, ninja, ghost – it has been called all of these and none of them is incorrect, for the Shadow has the mystical ability to disappear at will. As long as it's alive, it can disappear from sight and sound in an instant. Not only is it invisible and inaudible, it leaves no heat signature either, making it capable of open action even in an arcology. Most of the time the Shadow's first strike is from surprise.

Its tools as an assassin are manifold. The needles growing on its chin can be fired as poisoned darts. This organic poison is a powerful, short-term paralytic, meant to disable a target just long enough for the Shadow to gain advantage. Once it is up close, thorns sprout out of almost every striking surface, making it capable of tearing chunks out of vulnerable flesh. Its ability to Multiport strikes a target from up to six different sides nearly simultaneously. However, the Shadow is lightly armored and stand up fights can leave it badly hurt.

The Shadow is a deadly and careful symbiont. Those who are bound with one develop great patience and cool temper, combined with a controlled nature and a callous attitude towards killing.

**Whisper**

Reconnaissance Tager

7-7'8 tall

Whispers have senses and speed of which other Tagers only dream. Simply put, they see everything – even through walls – and they move twice as fast as other Tagers. As if that wasn't enough, they have a set of foldable wings (a strange fusion of bat and insect) upon which they flit about even faster, using a second set of small arms to carry things as they fly.

A Whisper's weapons are designed for harry and retreat. The whips that extend from its forearms can be used to entangle, disarm, or drag an opponent from the air. Gossamer Bombs, plasmic balls that drop out its chest, burst with a blinding flash of light, stunning and blinding those for thirty feet around. Combined with its speed, a Whisper can create an effective distraction. Moreover, its Razor Wing limit weapon is a perfect exit strategy, carving its way through any obstacles for a speedy getaway.

The Whisper is a delicate but feisty symbiont. Those who are bound with one develop great patience and a cool temper, along with a dogged determination and an amazing eye for detail. They are often voyeurs.

**Echo**

Amphibious Combat Tager

7-7'8 tall

The Echo is the only truly amphibious Tager that has manifested so far. Whatever the alien symbiont is, it manifests as an otherworldly sea predator, combining what can only be described as eel- and shark-like traits with a humanoid. They are deadly fast underwater, growing a serpentine tail to help propel them.

Though fully capable of handling itself on land, the Echo is most dangerous under the waves. It discharges mystical energy that travels effortlessly through the water, burning foes with a green electricity. The only Tager to truly have what can be called a mouth, the Echo sports a vicious maw with rows of terrible serrated teeth. Its body and extending jaws are design to snap and savage with this mouth, putting even the most feared of sharks to shame. When retreat is necessary, the Echo sprays out a cloud of black oily ink that's dark as night. However, it's when the Tager smells fresh blood that death is in the post. An Echo can smell blood at less than one part-per-million in either air or water. The blood brings out the primal predator in the Tager and it Frenzies. Moving with lightning speed, it tears up anything that has the mis of being in its way

Echoes are aggressive and primal symbionts. Those who are bound with one find themselves drawn to deep water, that they are heavily influenced by scents, and develop both an ecstatic love of instinct and an obsession for chewing on hard or tough foods. Many enjoy jawbreakers and find they can crack them with ease.

**Mirage**

Multi-Purpose Battle Tager

7-7'8 tall

Like the Phantom, the Mirage is one of the most common Tagers. It trades some of its brother's capacity for bloodshed for those of illusion and deception, but is still nonetheless deadly. It can generate blasts of solid light from the mystical field around its body, punching through targets with the force of a large caliber round. Razor-tipped tentacles sprout from its shoulder blades, lashing out to tear chunks out of those who get too close. But what makes it most dangerous is the fact that the Mirage is rarely where it appears to be. A mystical displacement field makes the Tager appear as if it were a few feet away from where it really is, making it very difficult to strike.

The Limit Weapon of the Mirage can save the day of any pack. It generates a group of illusory duplicates that act independently. The Mirage itself is displaced within the group, there- fore concealing its presence within. The copies can help conceal the numbers of a pack, making it seem as if there are more than there are, and they can be used as cover when a pack needs to escape.

Mirages are precise and cautious symbionts. Those who are bound with one develop precise bodily control and a confident awareness combined with a more guarded personality and a desire to blend into the background.

**Spectre**

Black-Ops Tager

7-7'8 tall

The Spectre goes places other Tagers can't. It has the mystical ability to pass through solid objects as if they were air. The Spectre's relationship with death does not end with its ghostly similarities. Its touch is mystically cold, leaving trails of frost. Those who've survived attacks often lose limbs as frostbite claims them. Spectres can also exude a putrid mist that withers all living things exposed to it. They call it the Gravewind as it stinks of rot and decay. It helps obscure the Tager and Spectres are often only seen as the shadowy form hiding in an ever-flowing fog. But it also can dispense death in an instant. While normally a Spectre cannot materialize within an object or the Tager will be destroyed, its Phasing Limit Attack is the exception. The Tager reaches into a living victim and becomes substantial again. Internal organs, flesh, bone, and blood are destroyed as they are violently displaced by the materializing mass.

The Spectre is a resolved and aloof symbiont. Those who are bound with one develop a precise nature with an unyielding determination combined with an emotional distance. They often have difficulty forming bonds with those who are not of a supernatural nature.

**Vampire**

Aerial Heavy Combat Tager

9' tall

The Vampire is in many ways the aerial counterpart to the Nightmare. Like its land-bound brethren, it stands more than a head taller than most other Tagers and is likewise more frightening. It also regenerates at an absurd rate, healing from death's door to your doorstep in only a few minutes. And just plain overall, its physical gifts are better than most other Tagers. But unlike the Nightmare, massive bat-like wings sprout from the Vampire's back. Nearly thirty feet from tip to tip, these wings are capable of carrying it high through the sky. They are death from above.

Everything about a Vampire screams pain. Its Exsanguinating Touch literally causes blood to boil, bursting out of the body of its victim. Those who have been tortured by Vampires typically bear terrible scarring from ruined capillaries and veins rupturing through their skin. The size of pencils but twice as thick, the stingers they fire are covered in inch-long barbs. But their most cruel and terrorizing weapon is the Bloodbath. Dropped from the air, the Bloodbath is a mystical energy bomb that causes internal hemorrhaging to those caught within its blast. Victims cough and vomit blood, while it streams from every orifice or bodily seam – eyes, ears, nose, genitals, anus, and even fingernails. It is a terrible sight to behold.

The Vampire is a sadistic and deadly symbiont. Those who are bound with one develop a need to inflict pain and an unholy thirst for blood combined with the patience of a predator and an arrogance borne of birds of prey.

**Efreet**

Rare Combat Tager

9' tall

One of the rarest and most powerful Tagers known to the Eldritch Society, the Efreet is a powerhouse of searing pain. Its skin is so hot that anything touching it is scarred. Its mace-like fists beat down walls and it can shoot flame from its mouth like a dragon breathes fire. However, it is the thing's limit attack that is most feared, as it calls down a mystical meteor strike that smashes and burns anything within a 400 square foot area.

The Efreet is a proud and righteous symbiont. Those who are bound with one begin to feel unstoppable and, while they recognize and appreciate the assets of those around them, they believe themselves to be one step above. They also develop a burning hatred for the forces of the Old Ones and Nyarlathotep and find their moral conviction becoming as pure as fire.

**Widow**

Rare Combat Tager

7-7'8 tall

Black, shiny and terrifying. These are the most obvious traits of a Widow. One of the rarest of all the Ta'ge symbionts, it is even more difficult than usual for the outside observer to consider that this hideous thing is in fact one of the good guys. Named for its arachnid-like similarities, the Widow is the Tager sent when the Eldritch Society wants to take someone or something alive. However, sometimes the Widow has different ideas…

The Widow mimics its namesake in many ways. It spins webs to capture even the strongest of prey. It can grow four extra legs at will, skittering along and over surfaces at accelerated speeds. Five-inch long fangs drip a disorienting poison, putting its enemies off-balance. And when it gets the urge, it can put all its advantages to work, cocooning a victim and holding him fast. The Widow can then play with him at its leisure – or it can reduce his insides to jelly with just one bite.

Widows are scary and monstrous symbionts. Those who are bound with one often develop an affection for dark and concealing places, a patient nature with the cold-blooded distance of a spider, and a perverse pleasure in the grotesque.

Metamorphosis

There are those Tagers who are able to take their union with their symbiont to a whole new level. Embracing their newfound nature given to them by their symbiont, they can become something even more powerful than before. It is a long and arduous process that makes their initial training pale in comparison. Once the Tager is ready, they spin a cocoon around themselves and, over the course of a month, evolve into an entirely new creature.

**Bloodgod**

Metamorphosed Vampire

10' tall

It is a winged monstrosity, a thing that must have spawned the legends of demons. Where it goes, melted flesh and deformed bone follow. Those that stand before it tremble, for they know that the Bloodgod will ruin their bodies, toying with them cruelly as it does.

The Bloodgod pushes what manifests in the Vampire to a horrific and logical conclusion. The metamorphosed creature no longer simply boils blood, it now controls flesh and bone. However, in order to undergo metamorphosis, a Vampire must have bonded with many of the less savory tendencies of his symbiont. To him, the flesh and blood cry out to him and he must answer their call.

**Dream**

Metamorphosed Whisper

8' tall

It is a creature that sees all. It lives in a world where little escapes its notice, not even the secrets behind other people's eyes. It is a feisty Tager, flitting across the sky like a dragonfly, refusing to back down even from fights it's likely to lose.

The Dream is what many would expect might come from a more evolved version of a Whisper. It is faster, with far more sensory ability. It even manifests unexpected ways to take in its environment, by looking into the thoughts, emotions, and dreams of another. Of course, that requires a Whisper who is willing to do what it takes to have its symbiont manifest more fully, which is far easier said than done.

**Horror**

Metamorphosed Widow

It should not exist, a creature so horrifying that its mere presence drives people into the throes of panic. It is an alien arachnid, or something close, that snatches prey from the shadows and disappears again under cover of darkness.

The Horror is the thing beyond a Widow. More of the hideous symbiont manifests, bolstering the creature's web-spinning abilities and poison. However, it brings with it fear so primal that most run screaming from it. Joining further in symbiosis with such a thing is not easy and is not for the squeamish.

**Impulse**

Metamorphosed Echo

9' tall

It is clearly the master of the sea, a thing that must have been the progenitor of sea monster stories. It slides through the water at lightning speed, carving things to ribbons with its mighty jaws. The things in the water fear, for an Impulse is hunting again.

The Impulse is perhaps not what many would have imagined the metamorphosis of an Echo to be. Certainly, its increased power and further development as an apex aquatic predator are predictable, but its sheer speed is not. The creature is capable of outrageous speed for an organic creature – and develops the ability to teleport to boot.

**Inferno**

Metamorphosed Efreet

10' tall

It is righteous fury, ready to burn the impurity from the world. Standing ten feet tall with burning wings, the Inferno is a thing that must look like what many have envisioned as the avenging angel. There is little that can stop its onslaught, as the fire that lives within it cleanses the world.

The Inferno takes the abilities of the Efreet and pushes them beyond. The creature becomes a being of living flame, capable of merging with and controlling it in unimaginable ways. However, becoming an Inferno is not for the faint of heart, as the symbiont's demands are not simple or easy. Those Efreets that choose to undergo metamorphosis have accepted their true natures and have been unafraid to set the world on fire.

**Memory**

Metamorphosed Mirage

8' tall

There is something about it that makes it impossible to remember. It is there for a minute and then it is gone, lost to the ether. It is a creature that lives in the cracks between moments, a thing that exists without leaving an imprint. It is a Memory, the thing that lies beyond the Mirage.

Whereas once the Mirage was a thing whose true physical location was a constant deception, the Memory becomes a thing that leaves no traces in the minds of those it meets. It is forgettable in a way that even technology can't comprehend.

**Phantasm**

Metamorphosed Shadow

8' tall

It is impossible to see coming. It may have even walked past, wearing a dozen different bodies and faces. However, if it chooses to show itself, death will follow shortly behind. It is the Phantasm, what a Shadow can become if it embraces its true nature.

The Phantasm goes beyond simply being mystically concealed to a world of illusion. It gains the ability to create realistic audio-visual illusions to live in the world. Beyond that, it can even generate mystical disguises for itself, appearing to be anyone it desires. However, there are many aspects of the symbiont a Phantasm must embrace in order to make the change, some of them less palatable than others.

**Revenant**

Metamorphosed Spectre

8' tall

It will always keep coming. It is a thing that knows no bounds, apparently not even death itself. Shrouded in a ghastly mist, it relentlessly pursues that which is its prey and nothing can stand in its way. It is a Revenant, the thing a Spectre is supposed to be, a creature that has passed beyond.

The Revenant expounds on all the properties of the Spectre. It grows in its capacity to pass through solid objects, to the point where such behavior is instinct. However, beyond that, the Revenant becomes its namesake as it rises from seeming death again and again. However, such a creature sacrifices much in order to become undying.

**Torment**

Metamorphosed Nightmare

10' tall

It has become suffering personified. While it once was a thing of death and destruction, it has now taken on the aspect of agony. It is perhaps best to run screaming before it, for the alternatives are far too gruesome to contemplate. It is a Torment, the evolution of a Nightmare, neither of which are things to cherish.

The Torment grows into a monstrosity whose sole purpose is to bring pain, suffering, and death to all it encounters. The creature now not only brings painful death through its weapons, it causes agony by its very existence. The perfection of pain becomes what it is and what it loves. Regardless, what a Nightmare must undertake to metamorphose is nothing easy – the Tager must have embraced all of the bloodiest and most menacing parts of the symbiont as his own.

**Wraith**

Metamorphosed Phantom

8' tall

There is something both threatening and alien in the confident way it stalks. It was once one of the most common manifestations of Tager, though it is no longer. It is a Wraith and there is little that can stand before its might, or any who are mighty enough to force it to falter in its stance.

The Wraith takes the Phantom to the next level in many ways, some surprising. Everything about it becomes more deadly. The tentacles that were always a part of the creature now manifest more fully, capable of bursting out in all directions to claim many foes. However, most unusual, the Wraith become an immovable being, a creature capable of controlling its own inertia in special ways.

#

**Author's note:**

And the latest chapter is now up! Read, enjoy and comment.

Also, I'd like to extend my thanks to **KageMCS**, **lizonjoe25** and **Blinded in a bolthole** for their assistance in coming up with ideas for my story.


	6. Chapter 5: Grim Times Ahead

Chapter 5

Grim Times Ahead

From within his portable command bunker, General Desolas Arterius surveyed the battle scene that was displayed upon a holographic map. So far, everything had been going according to standard procedure; preliminary bombardments had knocked out important structures and the ground forces were continuing the advance towards the alien's main population center at an acceptable rate. Yes, everything was progressing admirably.

Then, one of the technicians spoke up. "Uh…General Arterius, the 114th Legion has gone dark."

Desolas frowned as he looked over at the technician's screen. Sure enough, the icon that had marked the 114th's position was no longer there.

"When did this happen?" he asked.

"Just now, sir. I had them onscreen not five seconds ago and then…" he gestured vaguely at the screen, "they just blinked out."

"What was their location?"

"Sector A-6. Aside from some minor skirmishes, they reported that the area was secure. They were preparing to go link up with the 230th Legion and the 53rd Marine Division and begin pushing deeper into alien-held territory."

Desolas digested the information. "Do you think the aliens made a surprise attack?"

"I doubt it, sir." The technician indicated a portion of the aliens' city, within which was clustered a number of red dots. "We've kept a close eye on the enemy's movements; an offensive would have shown up, plus we would have received word from either the Legion or from the fleet. In my opinion, sir, this is just a glitch in the system. A few diagnostic programs and we should have everything back to normal."

Desolas nodded. "Then make it happen, soldier. We're on our own until we can call in support from the Hierarchy. I want our systems at full functionality."

"Yes sir."

As the technician began to run his diagnostics, Desolas debated about what he should do in the meantime. The 114th Legion was no longer showing up, so either it was as the technician said and it was just a glitch in the system, or something had happened to them. If it was the latter, then they had to take immediate action; the 114th was covering the left flank of his forces and without it, the enemy would have a clear shot at the center where the intelligence and command structure was. The General hadn't reached his current rank by ignoring a potential problem, and not knowing what happened to a full Legion was a big problem.

Desolas turned to a communications officer. "Get me a line to Colonel Tarkin." A few taps on a keyboard later, and Desolas spoke into the embedded microphone. "Colonel Tarkin, this is General Arterius. We have lost your signal on our computer. What is your status, over?"

All that the General heard was the crackling sound of static. He tried again. "Come in, Colonel. I repeat: we have lost your signal. What is your status?"

More static greeted him, but eventually, he heard a voice break through. "….eneral Arterius! Do you read me? This is Colonel Thanasis Tarkin! For the love of Palaven, answer me, sir!"

"This is General Arterius. Colonel, what's going on? What happened to the 114th Legion?"

The colonel's voice took on an edge of hysteria. "It's _gone_, General!"

Desolas shook his head, positive that he had heard wrong. "Say again, Colonel; what do you mean the 114th Legion is 'gone?'"

"I mean it's been destroyed! The aliens dropped a whole company's worth of giant mecha on top of our heads and they fucking _blitzed _us! It's just me, my assistant and a squad of soldiers that are left!"

Desolas paused in disbelief. If what Tarkin said was true, then they were now down close to two thousand soldiers and dozens of armored support vehicles. And they hadn't even been aware of it.

"Colonel, what is your current position?"

"Just outside of my legion's former location. General, there's something else you need to know: the aliens have started landing additional forces."

Desolas felt his stomach drop to his feet. First the report that the 114th Legion had been destroyed and now the enemy was landing reinforcements! How could things have gone out of control so quickly? He whipped around and headed back towards the technician, who had been distracted from running the diagnostic program by the news. He soon found himself face to face with a very unhappy Turian General.

"Soldier, why the hell didn't the computer pick this up? Our left flank is now exposed to enemy assault!"

The technician took a step back; Desolas looked angry enough to bite his head off! "W-we checked, sir!" he stammered. "All scans indicated that there was nothing there!"

"THEN SCAN AGAIN!" Desolas roared.

Without further ado, the technician began tapping away at the display's keyboard as though his life depended on it. A large white line bisected the map and then split into two, travelling in opposite directions. For a brief moment, everything seemed normal; then, the left-hand line reached its end and revealed the terrible truth. Where once there had been nothing of notice save the location of the 114th Legion, dozens of red icons now occupied the space and more continued to pop into existence onscreen.

The technician's hands fell limply to his sides at the sight. "Spirits save us, where did they come from?"

Desolas grimaced in frustration. "Weren't you listening? The Colonel said they were landing troops. That means we no longer have orbital supremacy."

"You don't mean these aliens took out the fleet, do you sir?"

"That is exactly what I mean." Desolas pinched the bridge of his nose. This was beyond bad; not only had the 114th Legion been destroyed, the enemy had wrested control of the orbit from the Patrol Fleet and was now bringing in reinforcements. The only saving grace for the Turians was that they were too close to the main population center for the aliens' fleet to bombard them. Of course, that hinged on whether or not they would consider that an acceptable tradeoff. If collateral damage wasn't regarded as a problem, then the aliens could bomb them with impunity.

Regardless, this was a situation that needed to be addressed immediately. Not wanting to waste any more time, Desolas began snapping out orders.

"Get in contact with the other units. Tell them to move as close as possible to the main city, but do not engage the enemy unless they fire first." He turned his attention back to Tarkin's line. "Colonel, head towards the 230th Legion. The aliens will most likely attack them next, so let them know what they can expect. I don't want us caught unawares again."

As the subordinate noncoms rushed about to carry out his orders, Desolas reflected on how badly he needed a drink right now.

#

Laelia ran through the corridors of the _Resolute Spirit_ at a breakneck pace. Already, her lungs were burning from her sprint. She didn't want to stop for a breath; the thing was probably nipping at her heels right now. Unfortunately, Turians are not built to maintain top speed for extended periods. They could put on impressive bursts of swiftness, but that pace would tire them out very quickly, and Laelia was no exception. Soon, she was forced to come to a halt. Leaning against a wall, she sucked in ragged gasps of air and willed herself to catch her breath as quickly as possible.

Even as Laelia stood there, the horrid images of what had just happened rose up in her mind. She remembered in perfect detail how Grixus died, his arm molded like putty and then his veins bursting, spewing blood everywhere. She remembered the monster's vice-like grip around her throat, its flesh burning to the touch, and the cruel eagerness in its eyes. If Severus had not distracted it when he did, she would have suffered the same terrible fate as her former companion. She felt her knees begin to buckle at the thought; of all the ways to die, Laelia could think of none worse.

She shook her head violently, reminding herself that this was no time to be frozen with thoughts of what might have been. The ship's bridge was not far away now; just a little further and she'd be there. The crew had to know about the creature stalking the ship's pathways, know what it was capable of. It would take the combined effort of all Turians aboard to have any chance of killing it.

Then, there was a loud _clang_, and the sounds of something clacking across the floor reached her.

Fighting down the urge to panic, Laelia dove into a nearby room. It was one of the crew's quarters, an officer's judging by its size, and inside she found a locker, just big enough for her to squeeze in. Without hesitation, she pried it open and clambered into it, shutting its door behind her. In any other situation, she would have considered this humiliating; a full-grown female Turian, hiding in a dark space like a youngling from night terrors. Unfortunately, this nightmare was not one she could wake up from.

The clacking sounds grew louder, and soon the thing making them stepped into the room.

Its appearance was that of a bipedal insect; four long arms stuck out from its wide shoulders and three pairs of translucent wings protruded from its back. Eight beady eyes dotted its face, each one blinking at random intervals. Laelia couldn't see any mouthparts, but there were plenty of other features to worry about. The upper arms were tipped with talons five inches long and looked strong enough to rip through a Turian's exoskeleton with no trouble. The lower two were simply massive chitinous hooks and could probably slice a Krogan in half with one swipe. It was smaller than the monster Laelia had faced, only eight feet in height, though that didn't make it any less intimidating.

The creature's wings buzzed as it looked around the room. It was a small compartment, only twelve feet long and half that wide, so there was not much to look at. Nevertheless, it took its time to scrutinize almost every detail; it was as if (and Laelia prayed that it was not) the creature was toying with her. The creature then turned back towards the door and called out in a strange language; how it could talk without a discernible mouth was a mystery to the Turian.

Another creature scuttled in, and Laelia had to bite back a scream.

What she saw couldn't possibly exist; nature would never permit itself to shape the abomination she beheld. It was hideous, nothing but a mass of carapace and spiky legs, three pairs of which served as its means of moving. The front two resembled blades, twin swords of serrated chitin. She glimpsed at pincer-like mandibles upon what could only be its head; they rubbed together and dripped a clear, viscous fluid, no doubt a poison of some sort. Tiny eyes, little more than white pinpricks, dotted the head, seemingly at random. Worst of all, though, was the sensation of absolute terror it instilled in Laelia. She had never been more afraid of something in her entire life; even the crimson-skinned demon from before paled in comparison.

The scream that she had fought down resurfaced with a vengeance and Laelia clamped her hands around her mouth to keep it from escaping. If she let out so much as a whimper, she was dead.

_Spirits_, she prayed, _don't let these things find me_.

The spiky horror said something to its counterpart, which Laelia judged to be a question by the tone of its voice. The insect creature replied and it trilled excitedly; whatever its companion had said had clearly pleased it. It asked another question and in response, its companion turned its head, which the repulsive abomination mimicked.

Their gazes halted on Laelia's hiding place.

The Turian's eyes went wide as she realized that she had been found. Before she could even utter a whimper of fear, the six-legged monstrosity skittered up to the locker door and tore it off its hinges like it was a sheet of tinfoil. Laelia was then treated to a detailed viewing of the creature's dreadful visage; it chittered with glee, fanged mandibles oozing thick beads of poison that dripped onto the ground. The primal fear it made her feel only intensified with it being so close.

Without thinking, Laelia jabbed her thumbs into two of the creature's eyes. It let out a shriek of pain and surprise, backing away from the Turian as a pair of smaller limbs began rubbing the places where she had gouged it. With the monster now distracted, Laelia made a mad dash for the door, intending to get out of the room and run as fast as she could to the bridge.

In spite of her impressive burst of speed, she found herself intercepted by the insect creature, which placed itself firmly between her and the door. Driven on by fear and anger, Laelia attacked like a cornered animal, pounding and clawing at the thing's thorax with wild abandon.

"LET ME GO!" she screamed. "LET ME GO, YOU SPIRITS-DAMNED FREAK!"

Fueled by adrenaline and survival instinct, her blows would have been crippling to an ordinary opponent. The only reaction she received from the bug was short warbles of annoyance. Finally, it grew tired of the Turian's flailing, and quicker than the eye could follow, it delivered a sharp chop to the side of her head with its upper right hand. Laelia went down like a puppet with its strings cut; the last thing she saw as unconsciousness took her was the two creatures standing over her.

#

"Well, this one was energetic," Snitch remarked as he knelt down beside the limp alien. A quick inspection showed that she was still alive; Snitch had been afraid that his blow might have accidently killed her. Dreams were far from the strongest of Tager symbionts, but they were still otherworldly beings with strength superior to anything non-bonded humans or Nazzadi could naturally achieve, and Snitch doubted that these aliens were much tougher.

"No kidding," Creeper grumbled. "The little shit poked out two of my eyes. I hate it when they get injured; even after they heal, the damn things still sting like a bitch."

"She certainly had some claws on her," Snitch said.

Creeper paused in confusion. "'She'? How do you know it's a female?"

"Educated guess," replied Snitch. "This one lacks the crest we've seen on the others and seems to have a smaller build."

Creeper snorted dismissively. "Who cares what gender the thing is? Let's just get it back to the Murder."

Snitch wedged his upper arms underneath the comatose alien and bore her aloft bridal-style. Creeper snickered at the sight.

"What a lovely couple you two make. When's the honeymoon?"

"Ha-ha, you overgrown spider. Come on."

As the two Tagers made their way back to their Murder, Creeper gazed thoughtfully at the alien and mused, "You know, I wonder what these things taste like. You think Carnage will let me eat one?"

Snitch considered that. In all likelihood, the Alpha would; he might even have a taste himself, being a Bloodgod and all.

"He might, if we have a few extra warm bodies," Snitch answered.

Creeper shivered with delight. "Ooh, goody!"

#

In the sole remaining APC of the 114th Legion, Colonel Tarkin sat in despondent silence, listening to the vehicle rumble over the terrain. He stared down at the metallic floor, feeling sick to his stomach. The 114th Legion was among the most decorated Legion of all; it had a chronicle that stretched back to the Unification Wars, distinguishing itself in numerous battles. When the Turians had entered the Krogan Rebellions conflict on the side of the Council, it had stood fast against numberless hordes of Krogan warriors during the Battle of Gellix. Few among the other Legions could equal its glories, and fewer still surpassed it.

And in the span of only a couple of hours, this new alien race had all but obliterated it.

Out of two thousand soldiers, only he, his adjutant and six enlisted soldiers still lived, three of which sported major injuries. One's left arm was a mangled wreck, barely held together by bandages and a makeshift sling; each jolt of the APC made him wince in pain. Another had half his face seared off and his chest was a mass of burns. The third had a three-foot metal shard lodged in his right leg, which no one dared remove for fear of worsening the injury.

Tarkin's hands began to make wringing motions, as though strangling an imaginary neck. The rational part of his mind told him that this was reality; in war, things rarely went as planned, and this was just another confirmation of that fact. His emotional side, however, regarded this defeat as an utter humiliation; his forces had been picked apart as though they were undisciplined pirate gangs, with not even a single enemy casualty to their credit. Even once it was restored to full strength, the 114th would forever carry this black mark in their records.

The driver's voice broke through his simmering contemplations. "Sir, the 230th Legion is just up ahead."

Tarkin made an absent gesture of acknowledgement. A few moments later, he felt the APC come to a halt. Feeling as though he had just aged fifty years, Tarkin stood up and exited the vehicle with his adjutant in tow. As he did, he caught sight of an escort coming to greet him. The lead Turian, sporting red and white facial markings, stopped in front of the Colonel and saluted, which Tarkin returned halfheartedly.

"Colonel Tarkin," he said, "Colonel Silvanus. General Arterius informed me of what happened. My deepest condolences for your men."

Tarkin nodded wearily. "Your sympathies are appreciated. But before anything happens, I have three soldiers in need of immediate medical attention." He jerked a thumb back at the APC.

"At once," the officer replied. With a flourish, he brought up his omni-tool and said, "Masavo, I need a medical team at my position, double-time!"

Within the span of five minutes, another APC, modified to serve as a portable med-station, rolled up and screeched to a halt. Medical personnel filed out from inside and rushed into Tarkin's own vehicle. Moments later, the three wounded Turians were led out on stretchers with their uninjured brothers in arms following morosely behind. Silvanus's eyes widened at the sight.

"Palaven's holy earth …" he breathed. "This is all that's left?"

Tarkin nodded. "I'm afraid so. You're looking at the sole living vestiges of the 114th Legion."

"Spirits…" Silvanus said. "When the General told me that there were only a small number of survivors, I didn't think the number would be so _few_."

"I would appreciate if you didn't remind me," Tarkin said darkly.

"Of course; my apologies," Silvanus replied gently. He then cleared his throat and said, "Forgive me for doing this so abruptly, but I must ask that you accompany me to my command post. Time is of the essence, and I need to know everything that you do about these aliens."

Tarkin sighed wearily. "Very well."

He and his adjutant followed Silvanus to a bunker which served as a personal office and was isolated from the rest of the 230th Legion, save for some attendants under the direction of Silvanus. The officer went over to a nearby cabinet and withdrew two bottles of greenish-yellow fluid, which Tarkin recognized as an energy drink for Turians.

"You two must be thirsty after everything you've been through," Silvanus said, handing the bottles to the colonel and his adjutant. They took them gratefully, though Tarkin privately wished for some aged Turian brandy, on the rocks. Of course, he knew that such a thing would not be found on the battlefield; hitting the sauce just gave the enemy one more advantage over you, and right now the last thing the Turian forces needed was their commanding officers liquored up. Without a word, he began to chug the liquid down.

Silvanus sat down at a portable folding desk and waited patiently while the other two Turians finished their drinks. Once they had, he immediately got down to business.

"Now, I recognize that this is still fresh and painful, but I have to know what I'm in for. The General believes that my Legion is going to be hit next; the 230th is the rearguard, which means if the aliens get past us, then they've got a clear shot to take out our overall command structure." He gave a pointed stare and Tarkin. "I don't think I have to tell you that would be nothing short of a disaster."

Tarkin knew only too well how devastating that would be. The Turian military had a clear line of succession, just like everything else within the Hierarchy, but in the event that Desolas was taken out, his successor might not be up to the task of leading the forces. Sighing, Tarkin took a seat on a nearby crate.

"If the aliens do decide to attack you, I can guarantee that you'll be in for the fight of your life," he said solemnly. "The force that hit us was comprised of giant mecha, ranging from ten feet in height to upwards of thirty feet, and they dismantled us in no time."

Silvanus made some notes on a datapad. "What can you tell me about these mecha's capabilities?"

Tarkin looked over at his aide and motioned for him to answer. With a nervous cough, he said, "The mecha were capable of dealing immense damage; the larger ones possessed sufficient firepower to take out a Tyrus tank with one shot. The smaller ones served mostly in anti-personnel roles, though these too could inflict severe damage on vehicles."

Silvanus made a few more notes. "Anything else?"

The adjutant nodded. "From what we've seen, the aliens have three types of mecha: One type focused on speed and maneuverability and used some form of antigravity technology for flight; if I had to guess, I would say that each one reached in excess of 100 miles an hour in air, at a bare minimum. In any case, they were too agile for our anti-air weapons to shoot them down. When they arrived, they concentrated on our vehicles, utilizing energy-based weapons to take them out. One kind in particular fired off what looked like a blast of electricity which would arc off from one vehicle to another, frying their systems and rendering them inoperable, as well as electrocuting the crews to death. I regret to say that this weapon was horribly effective.

"Then, there was a type that focused on durability instead of speed and preferred to remain on the ground, though these too were equipped with the same antigravity technology for limited flight capabilities. Their armor was sufficient enough to shrug off anti-vehicle munitions, though it is likely that it could be penetrated by mounted mass accelerator cannons; our own armored vehicles capable of such feats had already been mostly destroyed by the time these mecha arrived, so this remains only a possibility. Though they lacked their faster brethren's agility, they were still capable of remarkable dexterity when it came to grappling. These mecha also used energy weapons, most commonly lasers."

Though he tried, Silvanus was unable to suppress the look of shock that crossed his face. It was gone a moment later and the Turian focused back on the matter at hand.

"And what about the third type?"

The adjutant paused, clearly at a loss for words. "Well…I-I don't really know how to describe them. They were—"

"Some kind of giant cybernetic monsters," Tarkin finished. "Out of all the mecha, these things were among the biggest. I saw one that topped sixty feet; up close, I might add. They've got the same kinds of weapons as the others, but they're a lot more durable. That same cyborg-creature took a shot from a Tyrus tank at point-blank range, and the damn thing regenerated before I knew it. Then, it ripped the tank's gun off and punched it so hard it actually _bounced_ away!"

Silvanus typed a few more times on the digital pad before scrutinizing it carefully. It was obvious to even a casual observer that he did not like what he saw. He set it down and ran a hand across his fringe. "How many of these things are there?"

Tarkin shrugged. "A couple hundred altogether, maybe a little more. Of course, they won't be the only thing coming at you; the aliens were landing additional forces when we fell back. I can't tell you what to expect from them, not even their numbers, but personally, I would be willing to assume that they'll be coming in sizeable numbers and are no less dangerous than their mecha."

Silvanus now clasped his hands together and stared down at the desk as though it could somehow offer him advice on what to do. After a few moments, he lifted his head to look at Tarkin, mandibles clenched in frustration.

"So, what would you recommend I do?"

"Dig in, get every gun you have pointed at them and send out word that you need reinforcements."

"And if it's not enough?"

Tarkin took a deep breath. "Then Spirits help us."


	7. Chapter 6: The Next Moves

Chapter 6

The Next Moves

"This is fucking _boring_!"

Jacob rolled his eyes as Jon complained for the fifth time about the distinct lack of action after their assault. Once the mecha and Engels had established a secure landing area, word was sent to the carriers stationed in Shanxi's orbit to begin landing the ground forces. The skies of Shanxi now teemed with activity as shuttlecraft made their way to the planet's surface. The complement of the _Xerxes_ was the first to make planet-fall; troops, support vehicles and supplies were all ferried down. As for the squadrons, their orders were to hold their positions until all ground personnel were down and ready, and so for the past hour, Jacob and his team lounged beside their mecha, trying their best to amuse themselves and failing.

"Well, that's war, Jonny," Alison said. "For every hour of actual fighting, there'll be another six of waiting, often a lot more. It's not like in the vids with action every other minute."

"But why the hell did we stop?" he groused. "We were kicking their asses six ways to Sunday! If we kept on going, we could've routed their entire goddamn army! This whole battle would be over before the next day!"

"No, it wouldn't, balls-for-brains," Alison replied. "We were able to do so much damage because we caught them with their pants down. By now, they know we're here, and they can prepare for us. With that in mind, if we charged in right now, we'd soon find ourselves overextended and without support. Our mecha can take a beating, but my computer picked up some pretty nasty readings off of their big guns; some of them even got lucky enough to rip holes in a few Engels, which I might remind you, have armor as thick as our Sword-classes. Enough of them aimed at us, even the Nazzadi's mecha won't be able to dodge them all, and unlike Engels, our mecha can't regenerate. Our damage control systems can only do so much." She leaned back against the massive leg of her Claymore. "It's Tactics 101."

Jon crossed his arms and grumbled, doing his best impression of a pouting child. He was quite successful, so much so that Jacob and James snorted with laughter at the sight. Then, a voice suddenly blared out in front of them.

"Let's go, people! We're burning daylight! I want us ready to roll out when we get the word! _Schnell_!"

Jacob turned to look at the source of the voice; Captain Johan Reiner, commanding officer of B Company (dubbed Butcher Company), 97th Heavy Infantry Battalion, strode about his unit, voice like thunder. He was a bull of a man, six and a half feet of iron muscle with the only fat present on his body coming from the meal he had aboard the _Xerxes_. He was encased in heavy combat armor, pitch black in color with his Captain's insignia stamped on his helmet in stark white. While his armor was more cumbersome than the versions worn by the Light Infantry units, it also came with a fully sealed and self-adjusting environment, along with superior protection.

He was armed with an electrokinetic assault rifle, which Jacob recognized as an AR-30; it fired a five-round burst with each pull of the trigger which would tear across the field at insane velocities, but that wasn't what made it truly dangerous. Each round was laced with a potent cocktail of neurotoxins, a trick the Federation military had picked up from the Migou. The difference, though, was that the toxins were not made simply to incapacitate; they were made to kill, and kill quickly, ravaging the nervous system with remarkable efficiency. You get so much as a flesh wound from a bullet, and you'd be dead before you even realized you had been hit.

The soldiers themselves were outfitted similarly to their captain, protected by the same armor and armed with various electrokinetic guns, as well as a number of heavy weapons, including plasma guns, heavy rail guns and missile launchers. They also carried a few scaled-down charge beam battery mounts, capable of taking out something the size of his Gladius with one good hit.

With a wide grin, Jon cupped a hand to his mouth and called out, "Hey, Captain! We just took out a few thousand aliens so you guys could set down! Feel free to do the usual thing and marvel at us!"

Jon, like many other mecha pilots, could not resist baiting soldiers. It was practically a natural law that mecha pilots and ground forces be at odds with each other. Soldiers tended to regard mecha pilots as overconfident adrenaline junkies who think that because they get to ride around in a giant death machine, they were cock of the walk. Mecha pilots, in turn, regarded the soldiers as being jealous of their skills, and felt that they should be grateful for having their support. Fortunately, this rivalry was almost entirely friendly; sure, they would take jabs at each other, but when it came down to it, they were both members of the Federation's Armed Forces, and it was their duty to safeguard it.

Reiner turned towards Jon, a half-smile appearing on his face. "_Danke, mein Freund_, for your help. I'm sure it must have been quite dangerous, what with only your two-story plus armored mech protecting you. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get the _real_ men and women ready for battle."

Jon's grin grew wider. "Come on, Captain, don't be sore just because I have the stones to dive onto a planet from orbit while you guys have to be bussed down."

Reiner let out a bark of laughter. "Why do mecha pilots always try to glorify their balls? You must really be trying to compensate for something." His company joined in on the laughter, and Jon bristled; if there was one thing that got under his skin, it was questioning his masculinity.

"Hey, you _wish_ you had the sheer balls that I have!"

"Not really; mine would have to shrink down a few sizes for that," Reiner chortled. With that, he walked back to his unit, claiming victory for himself while Jon made noises of protest.

Alison let out a sigh. "And that concludes this episode of _Battle of the Testosterone-Filled Man-Penises_." She shook her head and looked up at the sky, as though seeking answers from on high. "Why do men always insist on getting into dick-measuring contests with each other?"

Jon shrugged. "Don't know. Why do women try to compare bust sizes?"

"We do _not_!" Alison declared vehemently. "Women are far more mature than that!"

"Then what was that time with that Nazzadi pilot?" Jimmy put in. "What was her name? Seravy?"

Alison shot the scrawny mech pilot a sharp glare. "For your information, it was a polite and intellectual conversation between peers," she said, before adding under her breath, "And she was _not_ two cup sizes bigger than me."

#

Carnage strode back to the rendezvous point for the Tager Packs, his captive in tow. The alien was still out cold, which served him just fine. Conscious prisoners had a tendency to flail about, and when faced with an extra-dimensional creature as their captor, they only redoubled their efforts to get away. Some Tagers might find amusement in such antics, but Carnage was not one of them.

A few minutes later, he entered the area where the two Packs had set themselves up. The varying breeds of Tager symbionts milled about, often shifting impatiently; no matter what type they were, every Tager was a creature born of violence and standing around waiting was something that irked them. Even those whose symbionts granted them the cold patience of an ambush predator would eventually become anxious for some action.

In the middle was a large gathering of alien prisoners in varying degrees of distress. Some were curled up into fetal positions, quivering so badly it was a wonder they could sit up. Others simply sat in forlorn silence, their eyes glazed and stares blank, no doubt awaiting whatever fate had in store for them. A few looked like they would attempt to make a run for it, though that notion was quickly put out of their minds by a threatening gesture and a growl from one of the Tagers guarding them.

Carnage walked up to the mass of aliens and tossed in his prisoner. The aliens began squawking and twittering as they crowded around their fellow prisoner. One even looked up and shot what could only be a venomous glare at him. Carnage smirked; not many would have the stones to do that to a Bloodgod. The predatory instinct that had been instilled in him when he was only a Vampire made him want to rip the alien apart for daring to challenge him. With difficulty, he managed to suppress the urge and instead settled for giving a glare of his own. Immediately, the alien was cowed and looked away.

Carnage rumbled in satisfaction; the Rite of Sacred Union had turned him from a simple human into a creature that was at the very top of the food chain. As such, it was the natural order of things for mortal beings to cower before him. Sheep, after all, rightly tremble before wolves.

"Ugly bastards, aren't they?"

Carnage turned and came face to face with Wallow, the leader of Jericho. He was a Torment, the terrible evolution of the Nightmare symbiont. Anyone even remotely familiar with this Tager would know that it was aptly named. A Torment was suffering given flesh, a walking abattoir of agony personified. To even touch one was to be stricken with pain beyond description. Though equal in height to Carnage, Wallow possessed three times the bulk, a walking slab of muscle and bony protrusions. His overlong arms, each as thick as tree trunks, were tipped with four talons; unlike Carnage's thinner claws, these were little more than blades whose sole purpose was to rip flesh from bone. Where there should have been a head, there were only rows of interlocking fibrous cords. Dark blue skin with shoulders that bulged with unsightly growths completed the horrific picture.

Carnage grinned as well as he could in his shifted form. "Indeed. And their language really grates on the ears." He gestured to the prisoners. "Have they been giving you any trouble?"

"No, they've been nice and quiet. They learned quickly that trying to fight back only ends up with them being dead, and often in multiple pieces."

Carnage let loose a guttural laugh; it sounded like a man drowning. "So, what's the next move?"

"Some of my boys are doing some checking around the ship's hidey-holes; see if they missed any stragglers. Once they get back, I say we head for the big fish. Is your Murder ready?"

"Just about. I got Snitch and Creeper hunting down a runner. They should be back—ah, here they come now!"

Creeper and Snitch shuffled over to their leader and nodded their heads in acknowledgement. Snitch was carrying the alien that got away, draped across his upper arms like some terrible parody of a damsel being rescued by her stalwart hero. Carnage gave a nod of his own.

"Good work, boys. Did our little friend give you any trouble?"

"A bit, near end," answered Snitch. "She came at us like a wildcat, all claws and fists. Creeper even got two of his eyes poked out. A good chop to the head put an end to that."

Wallow scrutinized the alien; if he had possessed any recognizable facial features, they would have been scrunched up in confusion. "This thing's a female? Damn; and I thought the males were ugly. Hey, look; it's waking up!"

Sure enough, the female alien was beginning to stir. She let out a tiny groan and blinked her eyes open; they went wide as saucers as soon as she saw the company she was in. Carnage's fangs twisted upward in a fiendish smile and he bent down to the alien's level.

"Hello there, little one. Remember me?"

In answer, the alien let out a shrill wail and attempted to leap out of Snitch's arms. Unfortunately for her, Snitch was quicker and clamped his clawed hands on the alien's shoulders, making sure to keep her feet well above the ground. She began to squirm violently in the Tager's grasp, but it was no use; she wasn't going anywhere. Her struggles elicited low chortles of amusement from the nearby Tagers.

"She really is a spirited one," Carnage remarked.

"Told you," Snitch said as the alien continued to struggle. "Want me to knock her out again, Alpha?"

Carnage shook his head. "Nah. Give her here; I'll make sure she learns to behave."

As Carnage took hold of the alien, she redoubled her efforts to get away and her shrieks increased in volume, causing the Bloodgod to wince. Idly, he reflected that having senses superior to normal humans sometimes had its downsides.

"Shut up and stop wriggling, you little runt!" he snarled. Unsurprisingly, the alien proceeded to do the exact opposite and made no indication that she was going to stop anytime soon. The language barrier wasn't helping any either, and so to that end, Carnage decided that a more physical approach was necessary. He delivered a sharp slap to the alien's face, being careful not to put too much force behind so as to avoid taking her head off. "_I said be quiet_!"

The alien shook her head, stunned from the blow. When she managed to recover, she began to open her mouth again to scream, only to have the Bloodgod's hand wrap around it.

"No more of that," Carnage growled. "Alright, I know you can't understand me, but you'd best pay attention if you want to stay in one piece. You," he indicated the alien, "are going to sit over there with the rest of your kind and behave." He jerked his head towards the morass of alien captives. "Now, I'm going to let go of your mouth; you start screaming again, and I will seal it shut until I feel generous. Got it?"

He removed his hand from the alien's mouth. Apparently, she had gotten the message, and was now staying as quiet as a corpse. With a grotesque smile, Carnage patted the alien on the cheek. "There, you see how nice things are when you cooperate?" He then set her gently back on the floor. She didn't try to run away, obviously realizing that would be a futile effort. Carnage pointed to the prisoners. "Now, be a good little alien and go sit with your friends."

The alien hesitated for a moment, but a low growl from Carnage made her scamper into the group. Wallow chuckled at the sight.

"Gotta say, Carnage, you really know how to get your point across."

Carnage gave a massive shrug. "It's not that hard. Violence is the universal language, after all; nothing like the threat of severe bodily harm to make someone hop to it."

"Ain't that the truth?" Wallow then jerked upwards and the fibrous cords that took the place of a head bent downward, an indication of delight. "Looks like my boys are done. Everything's all clear and they're on their way back. We'd best get our Murders ready."

As Wallow lumbered away, Carnage faced the members of his own Murder. "You all heard him; we're going to finish this thing." He indicated several Tagers. "Snitch, Creeper, Hemlock, Grief, Skinner; you'll be joining us. The rest of you, stay here and keep an eye on the prisoners with whomever Wallow leaves behind. If they start getting restless, 'remind' them that silence is golden, but don't get carried away; the dead can't give up information. Understood?"

A chorus of affirmations answered him. As his chosen team assembled themselves, Carnage felt a savage bloodlust begin to well up inside him.

Time for the coup d'état.

#

General Williams drummed his fingers on a rail in the command center of Shanxi. The alien army had stopped its advance and was now encircling the city. Their bombardments had taken out several key structures, including their long-range communication relays, effectively rendering them blind and deaf to anything outside the city. Their assault had been both efficient and ruthless, taking advantage of the initial chaos to carve their way through his meager forces. Why it had stopped was at the moment a mystery to him; if they had continued to press the attack, the city would have been under their control by day's end. Were they waiting for additional forces? Did something happen? Or were they just toying with them?

Whatever the case, the General wasn't about to let this lull go to waste.

Exiting the main room, he made his way down to one of the lower levels where magic was made. The moment the aliens had made themselves known, Williams had the sorcerers work overtime. Being critically short on manpower, any chance of hitting back was going to come from the mystic fields. None of that low-level crap; what they needed was some muscle, specifically the lean, vicious, eldritch kind.

The General came to a stop in front of a large glass window. Inside was consecrated space; only sorcerers and approved participants were allowed in. Williams saw them crowded around ritual circles, chanting in various arcane languages. Even from behind the reinforced glass and walls, he could feel the unnaturalness of occult activity seeping through.

At one circle with five sorcerers arranged around it, the chanting had reached a crescendo. An acid-green rift split the air, leaking a sickly vapor that flowed within the confines of the ring. Though shielded by glass and metal, Williams could swear that he smelled a putrid odor coming from the rip between space and time. His skin began to crawl in anticipation at what might be coming through the portal.

A few seconds later, the summoned creature pushed its way into the material universe. Williams saw it, and immediately wished he hadn't. So horrible was its appearance that he had the wild urge to claw his own eyes out so they could never behold such a thing again. Fortunately, his sanity reasserted itself before he could act on that impulse. Not wishing to linger down in this ungodly place any longer, the General made his way back to the main command center, moving as quickly as dignity allowed.

Upon reentering the bunker, a communications officer called out to him. "General Williams! We've got an incoming transmission!"

Shaking off the lingering feelings of dread, Williams made his way to the officer. "If it's the aliens asking us to surrender, I want to tell them to go screw themselves."

The man smirked. "Well, I don't think you'll get that chance sir. They're broadcasting Federation codes. It's a little garbled, but—" he pushed a few keys and then let out a crow of triumph. "Got it! Short-range communications have got a clear line! Patching it through."

No sooner said than done. A hologram of an Asiatic woman appeared in front of him, decked out in military uniform. She exuded a no-nonsense mentality, her face an unreadable mask. Standing at attention, she snapped a salute to the General. "Brigadier Xiu Chen, commander of the 101st Infantry and 52nd Armored Divisions, reporting."

Williams returned the salute. "General Amos Williams. If you don't mind me saying, Brigadier, you are a sight for sore eyes."

Only the barest hint of a smile crossed the Brigadier's face. "I can imagine, sir. From what we've heard, these aliens have been hitting you hard."

"Am I to assume that you're the reason they've stopped?"

"Yes sir. We've managed to break through their blockade and took out at least two battalion's worth of their soldiers. As of now, we're establishing our beachhead. Give us a couple more hours and we'll be ready to launch an offensive. What is your status, General?"

"Definitely not peachy," Williams grunted. "The alien bastards took out some important places with their ships, including our nanoforges. We salvaged what we could, but without those forges, we can't replenish our supplies or ammunition, both of which are already getting low."

"What about your soldiers, General?"

"Morale amongst the troops is less-than stellar at the moment, but once they get wind of your relief force, that'll soon change. As of now, I have about two battalions worth of soldiers fit for duty and a few mecha for support, so if the aliens decide to make a big push, we won't be able to hold them off for long."

"Understood, General. The moment my forces are ready, we'll head to your position and reinforce you."

Williams shook his head. "No. We've got a better opportunity." He walked over to a 3-D render of a map, displaying the unit positions, and pointed to a section on the aliens' side. "We've identified this portion as a high-value target. Judging by how it's flanked by two other formations, it is likely where their command structure resides." He turned back to the hologram. "Where have your forces stationed themselves?"

The Brigadier's image scrutinized the map and replied, "Near their left flank; by my estimates, only a few miles away."

The General nodded. "Good. Then that is where your troops will strike. Now, given how tightly its two rearguards are clustered, I'd be willing to wager that they'll be expecting an attack, so do this by the book."

By that, Williams meant to send out reconnaissance teams to gather information about the enemy's forces before attacking. It was more of a token order than anything; no commander worth their stars would charge headlong into enemy positions without first securing intel on them.

"And what about your forces?"

"We'll hold position here in the city. I've had the sorcerers under my command working around the clock; thanks to them, we've got some nasty surprises in store for the aliens."

As if on cue, the most ungodly, bloodcurdling howls erupted from below. The cacophony was of an inhuman and unnatural malignance, fit to fill the deepest caverns of Hell. Everyone present jumped into the air in fright; even Williams could feel himself breaking out into a cold sweat.

The Brigadier's face took on an ashen hue. Even through the transmission, she had heard the cries as clearly as if she had been there herself. "I…see," she said, trying to keep her voice level. "And will these…'surprises' be of any threat to my troops?"

"Rest assured, we're taking every precaution with them," Williams promised. That wasn't a total reassurance, but it was the best that could be done when otherworldly creatures were concerned.

Nevertheless, Chen nodded. "Understood, General." The transmission ended and Williams summoned one of his aides.

"Tell the sorcerers to send their new pets out at dark. I'll be damned if I let these sons of bitches get a good night's sleep."

**#**

**Codex: Magic and Sorcerers**

Once arcanotechnology had been accepted, magic was soon to follow. It is a carefully regulated business, as it has potential for great misuse, intentionally or otherwise. Nevertheless, the practice of magic is far from uncommon and sees use in a number of fields, from medical to corporate to military.

**Semantics**

Orgone is classified as the primal biological energy of the body and is the official term used by the New Earth Federation for that invisible thing inside people that allows them to manipulate the cosmic forces of the universe (magic or para-psychic abilities). It was "discovered" by Dr. Wilhem Reich, a psychoanalyst whose experiments led him to believe there was a force that had not yet been described by classical physics. His theories of orgone biophysics created the basis for modern accepted occultism. However, occultists and sorcerers in the trade rarely use the term Orgone. To them, Orgone is just a fancy pseudo-science term used by the government to make magic seem less scary. The thing they believe allows them to play with cosmic forces is called Ruach, a Hebrew word for spirit. Since Jewish mysticism contributed significantly to the modern understanding of cosmic structure, the magical community fell into the practice of using this term.

Another difference, though more subtle, is in the spelling of the word magic. One can always identify a knowledgeable occultist or sorcerer in that he spells his magic with a –k at the end – magick. It is an anachronistic practice, but one that has maintained favor through the translation of old occult tomes

**Legality and Registration**

Magic is controlled and regulated by the government. All possible ritual component and magic-related purchases are tracked by the Office of Internal Security. Those who have the knowledge and skill to be sorcerers are required to register. The OIS also polices the magic black market, also known as the arcane underground, which traffics in items the New Earth Federation deems too dangerous to be in the public's hands.

The penalties for violating the laws regulating magic are severe, but not as severe as the "legal" process. Any person in violation of magical statutes loses their rights. It is assumed that by entering areas deemed dangerous by the NEF that a person has become compromised by the dark forces of the universe, and therefore can no longer be considered mortal. The Office of Internal Security has the authority to arrest, detain without charge, and confiscate any and all materials and contraband that they deem necessary. Such individuals are then taken to a detention facility where they undergo an unpleasant battery of interrogations and tests to determine their state of mind and being. Those that succeed in establishing their sanity and mortality then go on to stand trial as normal. Those who do not find themselves locked away in specially guarded and warded OIS vaults, lost forever to the world.

**Sorcerers**

There are three things that make a sorcerer: a great will, a capacity for cosmic energy (inherent in nearly all living things, though sometimes weaker than others), and the drive to delve fearlessly into the occult. The first and the last are easily measured and are watched in upcoming youths in the New Earth Federation school system.

All students undergo aptitude testing as part of their normal schooling. The NEF has added a section that tests those traits that mark a youth as a potential sorcerer. When such students are identified, the Office of Internal Security takes interest, watching the individual's continuing studies, their purchases, and checking on their lifestyles. This allows them to recruit gifted sorcerers into government service and also have an early warning system for any whom decide to practice magic unregistered or who might fall under cult influence. This testing is one of the primary reasons that cults home-school their children.

The symbionts that make Tagers what they are require a regular infusion of Ruach in order to exist. This constant siphoning makes Tagers poor sorcerers, something they leave to other members of the Eldritch Society.

If a person meets the basic requirements for magical aptitude, it's pretty easy to find above-board training. Most reputable colleges have metaphysics programs that teach a young magician everything he needs to know. Graduates leave with a broad education in occult and magical theory, and more than likely an Enchantment, Protection, or Transmogrification (if a doctor) ritual or two under their belt. But there are still those who believe that the process is more intimate than that and feel that classroom education only sullies the study of "the Art". They choose to explore occult mysteries on their own and experiment in private. Some believe in a more traditional master/apprentice system. Regardless, those who want to study magic on the up and up have many options for training.

Service vs. Independence

There are two routes for registered New Earth Federation sorcerers to go in life – either service to the government or working as an independent.

Working for the government certainly has its benefits. In addition to great health and retirement benefits, NEF sorcerers have access to illegal books and spells. After all, in order to unweave an illegal spell a sorcerer must know it. That doesn't mean that government magicians have unlimited access to the "black arts" – this sort of knowledge is still carefully guarded. Even if the chances are few and far between, New Earth Federation sorcerers are the only ones allowed to skirt the legalities of their spells and libraries. On the other hand, not all government jobs are interesting. There are sorcerers whose entire job is maintaining wards for the President. But there are sorcerers employed by the military and police organizations that lead more exciting lives with more leeway in regards to practicing magic and these are the ones depicted in movies.

Being independent simply means that a sorcerer doesn't work for the government. Many sorcerers are recruited fresh out of college by private institutions. Corporations employ many eldritch magicians and actively seek hot talent. These sorcerers may be bound by the rules, but they are _very_ well compensated. Other independents might just be people with an active interest in magic or those who simply seek to improve their own lives. Regardless, being an independent often means greater personal benefit, but it also means that being even more carefully watched by the Office of Internal Security.

**Occult Languages**

Besides the panoply of Human languages in which occult knowledge is recorded, there are a number of ancient and inhuman tongues in which such wisdom can be found.

• Aklo – The language of the ancient Valusians, an ancient and supposedly extinct race that lived long before mankind, Aklo is a tongue that modern mortals are capable of speaking with some difficulty. It existed in both a spoken and written form. There are few in the modern age who know anything of this long-dead language.

• Enochian – The supposed language of angels as recorded by Dr. John Dee and Edward Kelley, Enochian has become a language used in many rituals (first adopted by Aleister Crowley). It exists in both a written and spoken form and is very easy for mortals to learn and speak. Enochian, like Tsath-yo, is taught at most major universities. To this day, no one knows if Enochian is a genuine or invented language – a topic of some debate.

• Pnakotic – The language of either the Elder Race or the Great Race, or possibly shared by both, Pnakotic exists today in written form only. Scholars have been unable to determine what the language would sound like and Humans more than likely do not have the biology to replicate it. Ciphers preserved amongst ancient Antarctic ruins have contributed to the world's knowledge of Pnakotic today. While difficult to find, those who can translate Pnakotic do exist in the occult circles of the modern world.

• R'lyehan – A common occult language, if such thing can be called such a thing, R'lyehan has been preserved for millennia amongst the various cults of the world. It is supposedly the native tongue spoken by Cthulhu and his kind. Mortals are illequipped to speak the language, but phonetic recordings have been passed down through the ages and are still used in rituals. The true written form of the language is hieroglyphic.

• Tsath-yo – An early Human language, Tsath-yo is a Pangean (some say Hyperborean) language of ancient man. While not acknowledged by the archeological community for generations, the language was preserved in both its spoken and written form by those occultists who believed that our forebears held wisdom that we have lost through the ages. It is not unusual to find occultists who are fluent in Tsath-yo – most major universities with a reputable metaphysics program teach it. The written form of Tsath-yo is hieroglyphic, like many ancient languages of man.

**Arcane Tomes**

Given that most of these texts contain knowledge that would prove dangerous in the wrong hands the Federation circulates censored copies as genuine ones so that people will be less likely to go looking for the real things. The only uncensored versions in the Federation are kept by the Eldritch Society, though the remnants of the Children of Chaos cult still carry their own.

**Book of Dzyan**

Language: Chinese

Specializations: General Occult Lore, Occult History, Occult Symbology

First found in the despoiled grave of a Tibetan shaman, the Book of Dzyan contains a complete cycle of the world's secret history. It also contains a great deal of occult symbology. In many ways, this book is the Rosetta stone of occult knowledge. The censored version keeps the symbology intact, but "softens" the history lesson.

**Book of Eibon**

Language: Tsath-yo

Specializations: Occult History, Ritual History

The Book of Eibon, also known as the Liber Ivonus, is an ancient book that describes sorcerers from bygone days. The New Earth Federation cuts out the dark myths of the Endless Ones for the censored version.

**Book of Five Shadows**

Language: Aklo

Specializations: General Occult Lore, Otherworldly Creatures

The grimoire that has come to be known as the Book of Five Shadows is a definitive work on summoning extra-dimensional creatures. It discusses the different type of entities, advantages and disadvantages to summoning each, tips on how to best manage otherworldly servants, and how to make the best use of them.

**The Breath of R'lyeh**

Language: R'lyehan or Tsath-yo

Specializations: Endless Ones, Old Ones, Occult History

The Breath of R'lyeh is functionally a fragment of the Necronomicon that is large and complete enough to be considered its own text. It details more of the secret history of the world, focusing on the Endless Ones and the Old Ones, especially the reign of Cthulhu and the city of R'lyeh. Like its parent text, few complete versions of the book exist and the oldest versions contain powerful rituals now known only to the Children of Chaos and the Eldritch Society. The censored version is heavily watered down and, like the Necronomicon, the New Earth Federation circulates censored copies as the genuine article on the black market so that people will be less apt to go looking for the real thing.

**Cultes des Goules**

Language: French

Specializations: General Occult Lore, Minor Cults

This book delves into European ghoul cults. It details the subterranean race of corpse-eaters and documents the transformation of mortal to ghoul. The exploits of the cults are a morbid read.

**De Vermiis Mysteriis**

Language: Latin

Specializations: General Occult Lore, Historical Secret Societies, Ritual History

De Vermiss Mysteriis, or the Mysteries of the Worm, is a pre-Islamic book detailing the author's travels to the East. It contains lore of efreets, djinn, and ghouls, and how to converse with each. It talks about radical orders, like the assassin, the dervish, and the thuggee. Chapters also discuss both magical and traditional methods of divination, as well as familiars, though rituals are removed. The censored version removes the chapters on familiars and all about conversing with anything.

**The Mysteries Within**

Language: German

Specializations: General Occult Lore, and the Arcanotech Theory Specialization for the Arcanotech Engineering Specialization.

This book is directly responsible for the creation of arcanotechnology. Obscure in the extreme, it has become a bible to arcanotech theorists, detailing the power of dimensions and non-Euclidean geometry. The censored version tones back on some of the more extreme theory.

**The Necronomicon**

Language: R'lyehan or Tsath-yo

Specializations: Old Ones, Occult History

The Necronomicon (or Book of Dead Names) is perhaps the most famous occult tome of them all. Few complete versions of the book exists – if someone claims to have read it, he's only seen a fragment. It details the secret history of the world, focusing on the Old Ones. The oldest versions of the Necronomicon contain powerful rituals known only to the Children of Chaos and the Eldritch Society. The censored version contains a watered down version of the text – something safe for public consumption. However, you won't see copies of the Necronomicon at your local magic shoppe. The New Earth Federation circulates the censored versions as real copies in the Arcane Underground, so that people will be less likely to seek the real thing.

**Pnakotic Manuscripts**

Language: Pnakotic

Specializations: Old Ones, Occult History

A collection of disparate fragments, this manuscript (possibly created by the Elder Race) details an account of the Great Race, up to their destruction on this world. It also contains some reflection on the Elder Race. The censored version keeps things light.

**Unausprechlichen Kulten**

Language: German

Specializations: Children of Chaos, Disciples of the Unnamable, Esoteric Order of Dagon, Minor Cults, Mysticism

Unausprechlichen Kulten, or Nameless Cults, details a collection of secret societies. It traces their histories and patterns of worship and contains historical information on the three major cults threatening the world today – the Children of Chaos, the Disciples of the Unnamable, and the Esoteric Order of Dagon.

**Author's note:**

Sorry for the delay, but inputting codexes into earlier chapters and writing the next one took longer than I thought. Hopefully, I'll be able to pick up the pace again.


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